


The Wraith: Part One

by TMZai



Series: Mageborn [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-24
Updated: 2014-06-24
Packaged: 2018-02-06 00:13:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 91
Words: 170,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1837294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TMZai/pseuds/TMZai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story has really taken on a life of its own, but it started with a simple 'what if' that ran through my mind. </p><p>What if Voldemort discovered that Dolores Umbridge had Slytherin's Locket, his Horcrux, before the trio could relieve her of it? It was a possibility, after all. It wasn't like Umbridge had any idea of what she possessed, she made no real attempt to hide it. How much longer would the war drag on if Voldemort realized that his Horcruxes weren't secured? What would change?</p><p>And what if Voldemort had a secret weapon stored away from the world? One that had been waiting for him in Azkaban and considered the Dark Lord nothing less than her savior?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

_June, 1997_ : Albus Dumbledore succumbs to death at the hands of Severus Snape, taking with him the hope of many of the Wizarding World. For without their champion, without the man whom the Dark Lord Voldemort feared the most, who would stand for them? Some turned their hopes to the young Harry Potter, the supposed ‘Chosen One’, for he had so often escaped Voldemort’s grasp and foiled so many of the Dark Lord’s plans.   
  
But another blow is dealt when the Auror, Alastor ‘Mad-Eye’ Moody, falls as Dumbledore did, in an attempt to secure the safety of Harry.   
  
  
 _August 1st, 1997_ : With the death of Rufus Scrimgeour and graceful coup of the Ministry, Voldemort now had at his disposal all of the power of the Minister of Magic, all of his resources to track down and finally end Harry Potter before his threat to the Dark Lord’s plans could be realized.   
  
But in the chaos, the ‘Chosen One’ seemed to disappear. There were whispers that Voldemort had finally captured him… that the Boy Who Lived…lived no longer.   
  
Unknown to the whole of the Wizarding World, Harry Potter and his closest friends were secretly hunting the means to bring the Dark Lord Voldemort down. Under the instructions of the late Albus Dumbledore, the three sought the pieces of Voldemort’s fractured soul; his Horcruxes. Dumbledore himself had destroyed one, the Peverell Ring, in the months before his death. And Harry Potter had unknowingly destroyed another when he destroyed the Riddle Diary. However, the search was not without complications. On the night of Albus Dumbledore’s death, he and Harry had gone in search of another of the Horcruxes; Slytherin’s Locket. Dumbledore was certain of the location and indeed they did find a locket. But shortly after Dumbledore’s death, Harry discovered that the locket was a fake. The true Horcrux had been stolen some time before by a person who called themselves R.A.B.—and the fate of that Horcrux was unknown.   
  
  
 _August 2nd, 1997_ : Seeking refuge from Death Eaters and Ministry workers alike, Harry Potter and his friends hid away in Grimmauld Place. It was there that they found that the identity of R.A.B. It was the younger of the Black brothers, Regulus. For a shining moment, the Trio believed the Locket was within their grasp. The House-Elf Kreacher told them of how Regulus discovered the truth of the Locket and entrusted it to the Elf before his demise. But Kreacher confessed that he had lost the Locket to Mundungus Fletcher. And when the Trio tracked down the thief, he Fletcher confessed that he too had lost the Locket.  
  
—to Dolores Umbridge.  
  
The Trio at once made plans to relieve Umbridge of the Locket.  
  
  
 _August 10th, 1997_ : The war against Voldemort takes yet another turn for the worse. In the early morning hours, Harry is woken by a violent vision into the Dark Lord’s mind.   
  
Voldemort has discovered that his precious Horcrux, the treasured heirloom of his ancient ancestor, was in Umbridge’s possession. Overcome by sudden rage and fear for the other Horcruxes, Voldemort tortures Umbridge to discern how she came to have the Locket. He then dispatches her and seeks out the hiding places of the rest of his fractured soul.   
  
  
 _August 12th, 1997_ : Dolores Umbridge is found dead in her office within the Ministry. The panic that ensues thereafter only increases Voldemort’s hold upon the Ministry and its people. Those of the Wizarding World are plunged further and further into doubt and dread. And those of the Muggle world begin to notice that not all is right with their world either.   
  
  
With both Dumbledore and Mad-Eye Moody dead, and Harry Potter apparently missing, the Order of the Phoenix suffers. Though select few keep their hope and their faith in Harry, the resistance against the Dark Lord Voldemort dwindles as the weeks—and months—go by.  
  
  
  
  
 **Wraith**  
 _Part One: Caged Bird Freed_  
  
  
  
  
  
 _January 1st, 1998_  
  
  
In those dim dark hours before dawn, at the very beginning of a new year, the rain that perpetually fell upon the stone and iron of Azkaban was little more than ice and glass, cutting into the ground like blades, slicing into the surrounding sea.   
  
But the shadow that streaked across the ice-drenched sky seemed to take no notice. When at last it came to rest upon the threshold of the Wizarding prison, it stood straight and tall, the black of its cloak still flying in the high wind. The shadow—the figure threw open the great doors with apparent ease and swept inside, though the walls and bars offered no haven from the bitter cold.   
  
With purpose in each step he took, he ascended to the highest level of the dank prison. Here, the cells were smaller, their captives more confined—more dangerous to those that imprisoned them there. But as he passed each cell by, he took note that they seemed empty.   
  
Until he came to one door. Peering inside, he could see, only just, the caged figure laying across the cot within the cell, her form barely outlined in the thin, fragile moonlight. Only for that first moment did he hesitate, wondering, fleetingly, if the figure within still held life.  
  
But when he unlocked and pulled open the heavy door, he saw her eyes flash open and turn to him. In the dim light they studied one another.  
  
What he saw was a pair of feverous, crystal blue eyes staring out of a wasted, almost corpse-like face, framed by long tangled locks of raven-black hair, her skeletal frame draped in the ragged robes of Azkaban. Her eyes seemed overlarge in her thin face, and held hints of both fury and curiosity in them. Azkaban had long since stolen whatever loveliness she may have had.   
  
Slowly, keeping those bright eyes on him, she sat up and raised a hand to push back the hair from her face. “You,” she whispered, her voice harsh from disuse, “are not my watcher.”  
  
“No,” he replied evenly. He tilted his head slightly to one side, reflecting his curiosity. “Your watcher?”  
  
“That is what he does,” she whispered back. “He watches me. My watcher, my keeper. He comes and goes…makes sure that I’m not starving myself. And he watches.” She paused and tilted her head in a mirror of him. “He has not come here for some time. Not since the Dementors abandoned their charges.”   
  
“Ah.”  
  
“If you are not he,” she whispered, a hint of dark humor coming to her rough voice, “then who would you be?”  
  
He reached up and lowered the hood of his cloak. Her eyes widened and the humor and derision faded from them. Her pale, colorless lips opened and closed once as speech failed her.   
  
“I am Lord Voldemort.”  
  
Hesitantly, moving as though through water, she stood—and then fell at once to her knees, bowing her head. Something like a sigh escaped her and she lifted her head slightly.  
  
“He, my watcher, he said you would come.” She dared to bring her eyes to his once more. “I stopped believing him a long time ago. I believed I would die here, forgotten, when my watcher stopped coming.”   
  
Voldemort looked down at her, something of a smile twisted his mouth. He gestured idly. “Stand.”   
  
She did so, though with obvious difficulty. Voldemort noted how her legs shook and judged that it was weakness, not fear that made her shake. She was quite obviously frail, physically so. He would have to correct that, if she was to be of any use to him. Her mind seemed sharp enough.  
  
“What is your name?”  
  
Again, she opened her mouth only to close it again. “…I don’t remember,” she replied, as though she had trouble believing the words. “My watcher called me nothing. I do not remember it.”  
  
“No matter,” Voldemort told her. “I shall give you a new one.”


	2. The Girl Unknown

_"When you gaze long into the abyss, the abyss also gazes into you."_  
  
  
  
Narcissa Malfoy gazed across the parlor of their glorious home at her husband, silent words of comfort hung in the air between them. Lucius, an air of shame surrounding him, turned his eyes back to the fireplace. He watched the flames dance, but did not believe he could feel their warmth.   
  
They, and the others in the room, felt as though they walked on glass, waiting for the reason they were called for to be revealed. Bellatrix Lestrange sat on the edge of her seat, eyes glancing between the parlor doors and the man who stood at the windows. He was the only person in the room that she did not recognize, and therefore he was automatically a threat.   
  
In the heavy silence that permeated the room, Narcissa crossed to her husband, placing her hands on his shoulders and resting her pale cheek against his arm. Lucius put a hand over hers, but said nothing. The affection in the gesture, however, was clear. Narcissa murmured something too low for the others in the room to hear and Lucius nodded slightly.  
  
Bella saw and narrowed her eyes. "What are you mumbling about?" she demanded.  
  
"Nothing important to you, Bella dear," Lucius replied with a spark of his old pride.   
  
"Don't you speak to me like--"  
  
"Bellatrix," Narcissa's voice was like a whip. "Just--just stop. Please."  
  
Bellatrix opened her mouth to snap back--but before the barb escaped her lips, she felt the familiar burn upon her arm. By the way he flinched, Lucius felt it as well. Bellatrix rose swiftly to her feet and hurried towards the parlor doors. Taking his wife's arm, Lucius followed her out into the entrance hall. They, in turn, were followed the fourth man, apparently unnoticed.   
  
Bella started towards the doors to open them, but as she took that first step, they flung open of their own accord.   
  
Lord Voldemort swept inside, cloaked against the icy rain and sleet. Following close behind him was a slight shadowed figure, also cloaked. And while the Dark Lord stepped inside at once, the girl stopped at the threshold, absurdly threatened by the stares of the strangers before her. But all Voldemort had to do was glance at her before she hurriedly followed him in, standing very close as though using him as a shield.   
  
The Dark Lord waited as the four before him bowed in respect and fear.   
  
"Welcome, my Lord," Bella said breathlessly, unable to stop herself from glancing surreptitiously at the girl.   
  
The girl raised a hand to hold the edge of her hood to further hide her face, not wanting to see the stares and wishing she could not still feel them.   
  
Voldemort looked over each face. "Narcissa." The pale woman did her best not to flinch as she stepped forward. Voldemort took the girl's shoulder and pulled her forward a ways. "See to the girl."   
  
"My Lord." Narcissa stepped towards her, offering a hand, but the girl backtracked, flinching away from touch.   
  
The girl looked quickly to Voldemort. "My Lord?" Her words were whispered, barely heard by the others.  
  
"Go with Narcissa," he instructed.  
  
She nodded once and glanced at Narcissa, eyes bright with apprehension. The older woman reached out and gently took the girl's elbow, barely touching her even as she drew her away from Voldemort's shadow and into her own. Narcissa nodded to the Dark Lord to indicate she had it in hand.   
  
Voldemort at once turned on his heel, walking back to the door. "I'll return shortly," he said to the general hearing. "Gavin."   
  
The fourth man, Gavin, walked past Lucius and Bellatrix to follow the Dark Lord. As he passed her, he spoke in hushed tones to the girl. "I told you so."   
  
Beneath the shadows of her cloak, the girl's face contorted into extreme dislike. When he dared to reach out to touch her, she made a low warning sound akin to a growl. Gavin scowled, but quickly followed Voldemort out the doors, closing them sharply behind him.   
  
" _Watcher_ ," the girl murmured too low for Narcissa to hear.   
  
The moment that the doors closed, Bellatrix turned threateningly to the girl. She was disappointed and insulted that Voldemort had said not a word to her. "Who are you?" she demanded ruthlessly. 'Why have you come here?"   
  
"Bella," Narcissa began in warning, ever cautious eyes flickering to the doors.  
  
"No," Bellatrix said, cutting her sister off. "Let the wretch answer."  
  
The girl's spine stiffened. "I didn't come here, I was brought." Her words are low, but harsh. "As far as the first question--save it for our Dark Lord, for I do not know."   
  
Narcissa looked at the girl questioningly. "Your name?"  
  
"I don't know," her voice is softer for the gentler question. "The Dark Lord said he would give me a new one."  
  
"Ah." Narcissa pulled gently on the girl's arm. "Come upstairs," she instructed. "We'll get you cleaned up--maybe find something besides those rags for you to wear."  
  
  
  
  
  
Voldemort walked silently along the path that led away from Malfoy Manor, Gavin a step behind him. "You've done well," Voldemort said. "Certainly enough to excuse your earlier blunder."  
  
"I am glad to be of service to you, my Lord."   
  
"Be glad to be alive, Gavin. You very nearly cost me everything."  
  
Gavin flinched, but wisely remained silent.   
  
"Her loyalty is an unexpected element," Voldemort continued. "One that can be used to great advantage. Her purpose shall be redefined to suit. I want to see what she will do with her power." He paused on the path. "Did you know she calls you her 'watcher'?"   
  
Gavin blinked. "Oh, yes," he said, clearing his throat. "Well, I never properly introduced myself, really. I thought a good level of distance was best."  
  
"Hm. I cannot deny the results." Voldemort began walking again, going over that first meeting in his mind. "She's frail, in body, I mean. She seems to have trouble standing for very long. A nuisance."  
  
Gavin swallowed. "I apologize, my Lord," he said quickly.   
  
Voldemort waved the useless words aside. "No matter. I've waited eighteen years for this creature--I can wait a little longer while she builds her strength." He glanced through the trees at the Malfoy's grand home. "We'll keep her here. It will keep Narcissa occupied as well."  
  
"A sound plan, my Lord."  
  
"She's forgotten her own name, Gavin."  
  
Again, Gavin felt the flutter of panic in his chest, not knowing whether or not Voldemort was angry with him or just stating a fact. "Her name was something Christine gave her. I didn't wish to encourage the connection."  
  
"It is well enough," Voldemort said. "It is rather proper, after all, that I be the one to name her."     
  
  
  
  
  
Upstairs, Narcissa ran a bath, filling the water with several salts and scents she found soothing. The girl stood at the corner of the room closest to the door, as though waiting to bolt at the first opportunity. Patiently, Narcissa held out a hand. "Come on then, dear. Let me take your cloak."  
  
The girl slowly lowered the hood and unclasped the catch at the hollow of her throat. As she passed it to Narcissa, the older woman noted that the robes beneath the cloak were ragged and gray. She was surprised the girl wasn't shivering, for although the cloak had held off most of the rain, it could not stop all of the torrent.   
  
"Aren't you cold?" Narcissa asked, and despite the instinct that told her not to, lifted her eyes slightly to look at her face. The girl-- _no_ , Narcissa realized,  _the young woman_ \--met her gaze unflinchingly. And meeting those eyes Narcissa found that she could not look away.  
  
"Why do you stare so?" the younger woman asked. She could not help but wonder what she looked like.  
  
"Your--your vision," Narcissa stammered. "Is it clear?"  
  
After a blink of surprise, she nodded. "Yes," she replied slowly. "Why?"  
  
Unable to put what she saw in words, she drew the young woman over to the mirror.   
  
Looking into the glass for the first time she could remember, the young woman almost wished she hadn't. She thought at first that Narcissa stared because she looked so akin to a corpse, the wretch that Bellatrix had called her. But then she saw her own eyes. Frowning, she leaned closer to the mirror.   
  
Her eyes, a pale crystal blue that seemed rather glass-like, were--cracked. Within the pale color were tiny line, little fissures that went from the center to the edge.   
  
"Oh."  
  
"Have they always been like that?" Narcissa asked.  
  
"I don't know," her guest replied uneasily. In her mind's eye, she could see the pale color unmarred, but she didn't know if it was memory or imagination.   
  
Narcissa considered her. "Well, I suppose there aren't many mirrors in Azkaban."  
  
The young woman stiffened, meeting her eyes in their reflections. "How did you know?"  
  
"My husband was locked within Azkaban," Narcissa told her. "My sister, Bellatrix, spent over a decade there. I recognize the mark that it leaves."  
  
"Bellatrix--the other woman downstairs?" The young woman turned. "She's your sister?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
She turned back to the mirror, contemplative. "I would appreciate it if you'd keep this to yourself," she murmured in her low voice. "My time in Azkaban, I mean. I'd like my past to stay mine."  
  
"I understand," Narcissa replied. She lifted a hand to touch the young woman's shoulder in comfort, but then seemed to think better of it. "I'll leave you to your bath, my dear."  
  
It was only after Narcissa had shut the door behind her that those broken eyes turned back to the mirror and remained there.  _What does my reflection say of me?_  She wondered silently, looking from her own strange eyes to the hollow cheeks, the thin, colorless lips. She'd never had a reflection to contemplate before. It was strange for her to have one now.  _No reflection--no name--had I nothing at all before he came?_  
  
She breathed deep and forced herself to turn away from the mirror.  _It doesn't matter_ , she told herself firmly.  _I have something now. I have him._


	3. Weapon

_"The secret of success is to know something nobody else knows."_  
  
  
  
Narcissa waited until she heard the girl climb out of the bathwater before going over to the door, knocking gently. Without waiting for a reply, she cracked the door open, offering a dressing gown through it. The girl hurried forward to take it, pushing strands of wet hair from her face. As soon as she had it wrapped around her thin frame, Narcissa pushed the door open the rest of the way. There, she paused, staring at the girl again.   
  
She seemed almost lost, the older woman thought, the dressing gown far too large for her. It didn't help that the girl looked incredibly emaciated with her long hair wet and pushed back from her face. Narcissa found herself rather intimidated by the sight and for a moment wondered if the girl could be nothing more than a new kind of Inferi-but she quickly dismissed the thought. "Come then," she said imperiously. "We'll find you something to wear."   
  
She led the girl into her and Lucius's bedroom and immediately went to the back of her own vast closet to search. The girl stood in the middle of the room, obviously unsure of what to do with herself. She could hear Narcissa murmuring to herself as the woman searched through some of her older things.   
  
"Here," Narcissa said at last, pulling down a few dresses. She brought them out with her, laying them on her bed with a touch of pride, though they no longer fit her. She gestured for the strange girl to move closer. "I really don't know why I've kept these," she said distractedly, smoothing out one of the skirts. "I've been too tall for them since before I married. Perhaps I was hoping for another child someday…" She slapped a hand over her mouth, appalled by herself.   
  
"You have a child?" the girl asked softly, as she reached forward to gently touch one of the dresses.   
  
"Yes," Narcissa said, swallowing back fear. "My son-Draco." She attempted a laugh, but it was weak. "I don't know why I say such things," she said, as though dismissing the pain in her voice. "As though Lucius and I would force our children to wear ragged hand-me-downs."  
  
The girl wondered if the pain was for the child she already had or the fact that she obviously dared not have another. She almost asked, but the look in Narcissa's eyes made her pause.   
  
Reaching out again, she touched the dress closest to her, a soft black one with trailing sleeves. Narcissa took it up and passed it to the girl, pointing to a screen in the corner of the room. "You can change behind there," she said. "I set everything else you'll need back there while you were in the bath."   
  
The girl nodded and disappeared behind the screen. Narcissa let out a breath and scanned the room for her hairbrush.   
  
A few minutes later, the girl reappeared. The dress was too long and slightly too large overall, but looking the girl over, Narcissa decided it would do for the time being. The cut of the dress did much to emphasize the girl's strangeness; it left her shoulders bare, but the sleeves were overlong, draping over her thin hands.   
  
"Not as bad as I expected," Narcissa said, circling the girl once. The girl seemed almost fae, inhuman but not completely unappealing. There was a trace of grace in her cautious movements…Narcissa shook her head, hoping to dislodge the errant thoughts. "I suppose you're lucky I've never been as,  _ahem_ , voluptuous as my sisters. Here." She pointed her wand at the trailing skirt and it shrunk a few inches. "That's better… still a little long, but at least now the skirts won't drag across the floor."   
  
Narcissa flicked her wand at the two remaining dresses, still laid across the bed, and they flew back to hand themselves back in the closest. The woman then gestured to the bed. "If you'll trust me for a few minutes, I'll brush your hair out for you."   
  
Obviously hesitant, the girl turned those broken eyes to the floor for a minute. But to Narcissa's surprise and a little pleasure, she sat on the edge of the bed, folding her hands in her lap. Narcissa allowed herself a small smile and sat behind her, hairbrush in hand. Slowly, and very carefully, she began to attack the many knots. The girl's hair was long enough that it pooled a little on the bed. It was a deep raven black and rather lovely-but it was also thick and proved rather difficult to disentangle. It took more patience than Narcissa had anticipated and it was only caution of the girl's anxiety that kept her from cursing numerous times as she brushed through.   
  
When she was finally able to pull the brush through completely, Narcissa sighed with relief. "There."  
  
The girl lifted a hand to her hair, pulling a few strands over her shoulder to see them. Something of a smile appeared as she ran fingers through the usually tangled locks.   
  
But in a sudden movement, the girl's head snapped up, in the direction of the door. She stood and moved quickly towards it. "He's come back."  
  
Narcissa leapt up, grabbing the girl's arm, "Wait!" She immediately let go with a gasp of pain as a sharp burning shock ran through her hand and up her own arm. But the girl stopped nonetheless. Narcissa rubbed her hand, frowning. "We should wait," she told her slowly, "until we are called." She sat, gesturing for the girl to sit with her again. But the girl shook her head, moving to one of the windows instead.   
  
Watching her, Narcissa realized what a mistake she had made.  _She'll never let me touch her again_. She wondered what had happened to the girl that she so disliked to be touched.   
  
They only had to wait for ten minutes or so before someone knocked at the door. Narcissa stood to answer, but it opened before she reached it. Her heart clenched when she saw her husband there in the doorway. He looked as he always looked in the presence of the Dark Lord-defeated.   
  
Lucius looked to his wife, glancing briefly at the girl at the window. He said nothing-but then, he didn't need to.   
  
The two women followed him downstairs to the parlor, where everyone waited. Gavin stood beside the window once more, smiling slightly at the sight of the girl. Bellatrix was pacing the floor impatiently, not daring to sit while her Lord still stood.   
  
Voldemort stood at the fire, eyes upon the yew wand in his hands. He lifted his gaze to the doorway at the sound of their footsteps. He looked right past the others to the girl behind them.  
  
Lucius and Narcissa quickly bowed to the Dark Lord and stood aside. The girl stood in the doorway, her eyes locked upon Voldemort. He gestured to her, silently calling her forward. She moved from the door to the hearth in careful, deliberate steps. Once in front of him, she bent slightly at the knees in a shaky imitation of Narcissa's graceful curtsy. Voldemort smirked and touched her chin, lifting her face so that the firelight would better illuminate it. He tilted his head to one side, studying her.   
  
"I have a name for you."  
  
The girl blinked slowly, holding her breath.  
  
" _Wraith_."  
  
"My Lord?" Gavin stepped away from the window towards the fire.  
  
"Her name, Gavin," Voldemort said, not looking at him, "Her name is Wraith."  
  
The girl closed her eyes, bowing her head. "Thank you," she murmured. "Thank you, my Lord."   
  
Voldemort glanced at those assembled. "Leave."  
  
Lucius and Narcissa needed no more encouragement and quickly made for the door. Lucius paused at the doorway, glancing back at Gavin and Bellatrix, who had not moved. A flicker of barely controlled emotion crossed the pale man's face, but what which emotion was anyone's guess. It might have been fear-or ambition. If Bella-who was still a favorite of their Dark Lord-dared to defy him or question the smallest of commands…well, perhaps she would not remain one of the favored.   
  
Voldemort's eyes narrowed as he gazed at the two who remained. "Did I not just instruct you to leave?"  
  
"But-my Lord…?" Bellatrix seemed to struggle to hold her tongue. She may have been impulsive-but she was not stupid. Her dark eyes darted between her Lord and the girl, who now gazed impassively into the fire.   
  
"My Lord," Gavin said softly, "I had thought that-"  
  
"Out, Gavin," Voldemort said, just as softly, though his voice carried venom. "She is no longer your charge." He turned his eyes back to her. "She is mine."   
  
Gavin fought not to scowl and bowed low to Voldemort, saying nothing more as he left the room.   
  
"Bella." Voldemort did not bother to look at her.   
  
Bellatrix gritted her teeth. "But what  _is_  she? What is she  _doing_  here?"  
  
Voldemort flicked his wand once. Bellatrix gasped in shock and pain and was then quickly reduced to mindless screaming. She slid to the floor, convulsing wildly as the Cruciatus Curse coursed under her skin.   
  
Voldemort stepped away from the girl to stand beside Bellatrix. His eyes held no pity as he looked down at her, but after only a moment, he released the spell. Bella lay gasping on the floor, struggling to breathe. When at last she was able to lift her head, Voldemort spoke in an acidic whisper. "| _Leave_."  
  
Bella let out a sobbing breath and pulled herself from the ground, dashing to the door. The girl turned as she did and caught sight of Narcissa's frightened face just beyond the door before it closed sharply.   
  
"What does it mean?" the girl murmured. "My…my name?"  
  
"Ghost," Voldemort replied, not turning towards her. "Specter, phantom. Take your pick."   
  
"My Lord?"  
  
Voldemort looked at her.  
  
Wraith lifted her broken eyes to his.   
  
"What are my orders?"  
  
He smiled.  
  
  
  
  
  
Not half an hour later, the door to the parlor opened. Wraith stood, one hand on the doorframe, gazing at the group still assembled there. There was a contented look in her eye, though her face held only the barest hint of emotion. She looked at each of them in turn before she turned back and disappeared into the parlor again.   
  
Lucius was the first to move, understanding the unspoken summons. He gestured to Narcissa, who quickly took his arm, and they stepped into the room after the girl. They were followed quickly by Bellatrix and Gavin.   
  
Voldemort stood by the fire, as before, but now Wraith stood beside him, head bowed, hands clasped behind her back. In the firelight, her wasted face seemed more pronounced.   
  
"Lucius."  
  
Lucius quickly bowed. "My Lord."  
  
"You and your wife will be playing host to my Wraith," Voldemort told him. "I expect her to be treated with the utmost respect."  
  
"Of course, My Lord," Lucius said.   
  
Narcissa swallowed back a jolt of apprehension. "Our home is always at your disposal, my Lord."  
  
"I know," Voldemort replied. "I shall return for her in some months. See that she builds her strength, Lucius, Narcissa." His gaze flickered to Bella. "What was that, Bella? Speak a little louder."  
  
Bella paled dangerously, but lifted her voice. "Is she nothing more than your new pet-my Lord?"  
  
"Pet?" Voldemort smiled slowly. "Oh, no, Bella dear."   
  
He placed a hand under the girl's chin, lifting her face once more.   
  
"She's my new weapon."


	4. The New World

_All that really belongs to us is time; even he who has nothing else has that._  
  
  
  
  
The late hour in which the Dark Lord took his leave saw the touch of dawn at the horizon. Wraith stood at the doors beside him, a silent but palpable presence.   
  
"Be on your best behavior, my Wraith," Voldemort told her. "Practice your magicks, but do not waste them. You remember what we spoke of at Azkaban?"   
  
"Yes, my Lord."  
  
"Good. Keep it forefront in your mind. I shall return."  
  
"When?"  
  
The single word was spoken with such innocence and yearning that he paused, looking back at her.  _So curious_ , he thought, _to see such emotions…and all for me_.   
  
"When I choose to," he replied. It pleased him to see her simply nod in acceptance. "Build your strength, my Wraith, else I will have no use for you."  
  
"Yes, my Lord."   
  
He looked to the east. "The morning is not far off. Have Narcissa find you a room where you can sleep."   
  
Again, the girl nodded. She waited there at the door's threshold, watching his back as he walked down the path towards the gates. It wasn't until he had reached the gates and disappeared that she turned back into the Manor and shut the doors behind her. She slipped back into the parlor, where Lucius and Narcissa waited still. Bella seemed to have disappeared; something that Wraith did not trust. And she did not see Gavin either. Wraith felt a chill slide down her back.   
  
Ignoring it, she looked to Lucius. "He is gone."  
  
She saw and understood the relief that passed quickly across the man's face, though she did not feel it herself. Lucius turned to his wife, offering his hand. "I think it far past time that we sought our beds," he said. "Come," he said to Wraith. "We'll show you your rooms."  
  
Wraith followed them upstairs, eyes downcast. On the second landing, they stopped before the first door. Lucius unlocked it with a quick charm and pushed it open, standing aside for Wraith to see.  
  
The room was moderately large, with a long couch, and several chairs, a small table. The windows were tall, covered with dark curtains. Wraith took it all in and then turned to Lucius with a curious look.  
  
He pointed to a door on the left wall. "The bedroom is through there. You have your own bath as well."  
  
"We'll see about further clothes for you-" Narcissa began.  
  
"No need," Wraith murmured. "I'll see to my own." Narcissa saw the hint of a smile. "It will be good practice."  
  
On those enigmatic words, she bowed her head to both Lucius and Narcissa and stepped into her room. Lucius started away, but Narcissa hesitated. Wraith looked at her, head tilted to one side in curiosity.  
  
"We'll see you in the morning," Narcissa told her gently. "Sleep well."  
  
"Thank you," Wraith all but whispered. "You too."  
  
Narcissa nodded and then hurried to catch up with her husband. Wraith stood in the doorway of her rooms, watching as they sought the refuge of their rooms. Just as their door closed, however, Wraith heard another door creak open.   
  
Across the hall, several doors down, he leaned against his doorframe, a very satisfied smile on his face.   
  
Wraith shook with the effort not to move.   
  
"Goodnight, my  _Wraith_ ," he said.  
  
"I'm not your anything anymore," she hissed.  
  
The dark humor faded from his face and he stepped forward. She lifted her head in defiance, but still she shook. He stopped only an inch from her and he towered over her small frame.  
  
"You do look marvelous in a proper dress," he told her. "One would think you were born for the finer things."  
  
A thousand responses came to her mind, but in the end she dismissed them all. Slowly, she stopped her shivering and simply looked up at him. "Goodnight, Gavin." She stepped back and shut the door in his face. She smiled to hear his soft curse on the other side and the last of her ingrained fear vanished. "You are no longer my watcher, nor my keeper," she whispered. "You have no hold over me. You never will again. I swear it."  
  
Whether he had heard those last words, she did not know or care. They were not really for him. They were for her.  
  
  
  
She did not sleep well. She was unused to having a real bed on which to sleep and it distracted her to no end. When the sky was fully light outside her window, she slipped out of the unfamiliar bed and dressed quickly. She found a brush on the otherwise empty dresser in the corner of her room and ran it through her raven hair.   
  
But as she stepped out of the bedroom, she stopped, undecided, in the other room. Were the Malfoys even awake yet? It had only been a few hours after all. And she did not wish to take the risk of running into either Gavin or Bellatrix without their presence.    
  
So she lay across the couch, finding it far more like her usual bed. She closed her eyes, wondering if sleep would come easier there. She drifted, her thoughts a complicated tangle, for almost another hour. Though true sleep still eluded her, she found the 'cat nap' more restful than her earlier attempt.  
  
Giving up, she stood and crossed the one of the windows. She touched the dark curtains, running her hand over the dusty velvet, enjoying the feel of it against her skin.   
  
Struck by a sudden longing, she threw the curtains open, spilling sunlight across the room. She pressed her hands against the glass, gazing at the magnificent grounds below. A twisting and intricate garden path lay just beneath her window, the mid-morning sun making the flowers seem brighter, and the light danced over the pale marble statuary that littered the greenery.   
  
 _I could go outside_. The thought astonished her and almost frightened her.   _I am free to do what I like. I could go out there and walk the paths-see the flowers-feel the sun._  
  
The sun through the window teased her senses and seemed to call to her. She breathed deep and then turned from the window, hurrying to the door. She practically ran down the hall and the twisting stair. She was halfway to the front doors when she heard someone call her.  
  
Wraith stopped and turned to the parlor door. Narcissa stood there, elegantly dressed and made up, her pale hair coifed to perfection. The difference in her made Wraith blink.   
  
"I didn't know you were awake," Narcissa said, frowning slightly. She gestured to the room behind her. "We were just about to take brunch. Are you hungry?"  
  
Wraith hesitated and then shook her head. "I…I was going to go outside…just for a minute…"  
  
Narcissa nodded. "Of course," she said softly. "Go right ahead."  
  
Again, a hint of a smile appeared before the girl dashed down to the doors. Narcissa wondered if the girl even knew how to really smile.   
  
  
  
The air was still cold when she took those first few steps. But she could feel the sun upon her skin, the warmth it promised. She couldn't remember ever having felt it before. The sun did not often make an appearance at Azkaban. It was a stranger to her.  
  
She paused, looking all around her, before she turned to go around to the garden that she'd seen out of her window.   
  
As she walked that twisting path, she reached out to touch each flower that she passed. They felt icy to her fingers and she realized that each was coated in frost.  _It's winter_ , she remembered belatedly.  _Shouldn't there be snow_? It only snowed occasionally at Azkaban, but every time that it did, it was misery. It turned everything to ice.  
  
Curious, she made her way to the wall that marked the edge of the Manor's grounds and walked until she came to a gate. Looking out over the land beyond, she saw what she had been unable to see in the dark the night before.  _Snow_. Pale, glittering snow that covered the ground and touched the trees. It was beautiful to her eyes. Something she had never seen.  
  
 _There must be a charm on the grounds_ , she realized, glancing back over her shoulder. She looked back to the untouched powder on the other side of the gate. Part of her longed to touch it, just to see if it was as soft as it looked. But yet another part of her, a stronger part, was afraid to venture beyond the gate.   
  
She lifted her head to the sky above and suddenly felt very small.   
  
 _It just goes on and on…as though it could swallow me up and not even notice._  
  
Slowly, she stepped backwards a few steps before she turned and ran back through the garden and back to the front doors. There, at the threshold, she stopped again.   
  
She was still standing there, staring up at the sky, when Narcissa came out of the parlor. The older woman saw the mesmerized expression on the girl's face and approached slowly.   
  
"Wraith?" she called gently. "Why don't you come inside? You're letting in the cold."  
  
"Oh." Her voice was very small. "I'm sorry." She stepped back and shut the doors. She blinked several times before she looked to Narcissa expectantly.  
  
"Would you like something to eat?" Narcissa asked.   
  
Wraith nodded hesitantly.   
  
Narcissa led her further down the hall to what seemed to be the dining room. There were several dishes, obviously from her and Lucius's meal, but there was also one untouched plate. Narcissa gestured for the girl to sit before she lifted a little bell from the table and rang it once.   
  
A tiny head poked out from the kitchen. "Yes, Mistress?"  
  
"Jiri," Narcissa said, her tone firm. "Fetch the Lady Wraith something to eat." She held up a hand to stop the house-elf from leaving. "Keep it simple. Nothing too rich."  
  
The house-elf nodded, scurrying away. Wraith watched him go, frowning. She glanced up at Narcissa. "Who was that?"  
  
"Jiri," Narcissa told her, sitting in the chair across from her. "A house-elf. It was a gift from our friend, Severus Snape. We lost our own elf a few years ago."  
  
When the house-elf came back into the dining room, balancing a serving dish on his head, Wraith studied him. He wore a tea towel like a toga and Wraith could see that his hands were heavily bandaged. Her frown deepened.  
  
Jiri set the serving dish on the table and stepped back, bowing his head. He lifted nervous eyes when he felt Wraith's gaze still upon him.   
  
Seeing the fear in his eyes, Wraith quickly turned to what he had brought out. On the dish was a bowl of porridge, dotted with strawberries. There was bread as well, obviously freshly baked. It was the bread that she reached for first, for it was the only thing she recognized.   
  
But to Narcissa's surprise, the girl set the bread down after one bite. "Is something wrong?" she asked.  
  
Wraith gave her that tiny smile. "We got bread in Azkaban," she said softly. "It wasn't anything like this."  
  
Narcissa smiled slightly, understanding what the girl was saying. "Eat carefully," she instructed, pushing up from the table. "You'll want to become accustomed to real food."  
  
Wraith nodded and picked the bread up again. "Narcissa?"  
  
She stopped in the doorway. "Yes?"  
  
"Are they still here?"  
  
Narcissa didn't have to ask who she meant. "No," she replied. "Bellatrix and…that other man left a couple of hours ago." She hesitated. "I don't know about the stranger, but Bella will return with her husband tonight. They live here with us." She cleared her throat. "If there's anything else you'd like, Jiri will get it for you."  
  
Wraith sighed. "Thank you."  
  
Narcissa nodded and left her alone. Jiri blinked at her and then bowed before quickly escaping to the kitchen.  
  
 _He's gone_ , Wraith reminded herself as she slowly ate.  _That's one less worry at least. Bellatrix…I think I can handle the threat she poses. But my Watcher…Gavin_ …She shuddered and set down the porridge spoon, suddenly feeling sick.   
  
"Jiri?" she called hesitantly.  
  
The house-elf came in, as hesitant as she. "Yes, Miss?"  
  
Wraith swallowed, trying to dislodge the lump in her throat. "Could I have a glass of water?" she asked.  
  
The house-elf looked relieved. "Of course, Miss. Right away." He returned with a glass of ice water a moment later, offering it to her.  
  
"Thank you, Jiri," Wraith said softly. She sipped the water, grateful for the cold. It seemed to calm her somewhat.   
  
But Jiri could see how her hands shook.


	5. Practice

_Liberty without learning is always in peril; learning without liberty is always in vain._  
  
  
  
  
Wraith succeeded in avoiding Bellatrix's return to the Manor by simply taking her dinner in her rooms and remaining there for the rest of the night. Jiri did not seem to mind bringing it up to her, but Wraith found it rather difficult to read the house-elf.   
  
That night, she slept fitfully on the couch rather than trying the bed again. But before she slept, she opened the curtains on all the windows. The simple action made the room seem so much larger and it seemed to help her sleep as well.   
  
She woke just before dawn and sat at the window to watch the sun rise. It was something she had always enjoyed in Azkaban, for her cell had faced the east. It had given her a simple reason to wake every day and helped her to mark to passage of the days themselves. She had been far too exhausted the day before to stay awake for the dawn and was sorry that she had missed the first sunrise of her freedom.   
  
And she wondered, as she turned from the window, when Voldemort would return for her.  
  
In the quiet of the Manor, she hurried downstairs, as silent as she could be, and snuck into the kitchen. She looked around the dark room and called softly. "Jiri?" She was quiet, not wanting to wake him if he still slept.  
  
But the house-elf answered her call, entering from the dining room. Wraith saw that he had been awake, for he carried a cleaning rag in his hand and there were streaks of dirt on his cheeks. "Good morning, Miss," he squeaked.   
  
Wraith hesitated. "I was hoping to have something to eat before the others woke."  
  
The house-elf gave her a hesitant smile and nodded. "What would Miss like?"  
  
"Something simple?" she asked.   
  
So Jiri set to making a pot of tea and Wraith was pleased when he offered a small meal of bread and jam. "You don't have to stay with me, Jiri, if there's something else you have to do," she said when he handed her the tea. When the house-elf hesitated, she added, "I don't want to get you in trouble." Her eyes lingered on his bandaged fingers.   
  
Jiri looked relieved. "Thank you, Miss," he said, bowing his head. "If you need anything, I'm at your service." He left her to her breakfast, but it was clear that he was becoming warily fond of the girl and her quiet manner.   
  
Once Wraith had finished, she took a second cup of tea with her and slipped out of the Manor itself to sit on the front steps. There was a bitter cold in the air that spoke of forthcoming snowfall, but Wraith breathed it in like life itself. Drinking her tea slowly, she forced herself to stare up into the open sky. Her fear of it made her uncomfortable, for it had the same taste as her fear of being locked away again. Endless minutes passed as she tried to become accustomed to the sight.   
  
It was only after she heard someone on the stair inside that she stood and went back into the grand house. She paused in the doorway when she saw that it was Lucius on the stair. He stopped and stared as well, obviously unsure of how to speak to her.   
  
When the silence had gone on too long, Lucius cleared his throat and continued down the stairs. "Good morning," he said, nodding to her. "Er…I trust you slept well?"  
  
Wraith nodded hesitantly. She was as unsure of what to say to him as he was of her.   
  
Realizing the early hour, Lucius frowned slightly. "How…long have you been awake?"  
  
"Dawn," she told him. "I like sunrises," she said in explanation.   
  
"Ah," Lucius said. He nodded, somehow relieved that she spoke so easily.   
  
"Where is Narcissa?" Wraith asked him then, glancing up the stairs.   
  
"Still asleep," he told her.  
  
"And her sister?"  
  
"Also, still asleep."  
  
"Good," Wraith said shortly. "I have the oddest feeling that Bellatrix doesn't like me."  
  
It took Lucius a moment to realize the girl had made a jest and he let out a surprised cough that hid a laugh. Wraith smiled just slightly. "I've thought to avoid her as much as is possible."  
  
"A sound plan," he said. He gestured towards the dining room. "Shall I call for breakfast?" When Wraith blinked at him in plain surprise, he cleared his throat. "Our Lord did instruct that Narcissa and I see to your health while you are here."  
  
"I've already eaten," she replied, "but thank you." She glanced at him and Lucius realized that she had yet to meet his eyes. "Do you have books?" she asked softly, a yearning in her voice.  
  
"We have a small library on the third floor," he told her. "You may read what you like from it."  
  
"I've had only few books in my life," she says.  _What little my Watcher brought to me as rewards for 'good behavior'_. "I'm not…very good at reading, I think. But I want to be better."  
  
"It's never a bad thing," Lucius said lightly, "to seek to improve yourself."  
  
"He would like me to read well, I think."   
  
The words were soft and distracted. Lucius knew that she was speaking of Voldemort and was greatly disturbed by the clear reverence in her voice. It threw him to speechlessness.  
  
Wraith lifted her head towards the stairs. "I think I'll seek the library," she said. She bowed her head to him and smiles slightly again. "Thank you, Mr. Malfoy."  
  
"Lucius, please," he said, suddenly uncomfortable in her presence.   
  
If she sensed it, she gave no indication. She nodded again. "Thank you, Lucius."   
  
She stepped past him and up the stairs. Lucius watched her go, a heavy weight in his mind as he wondered just what the Dark Lord wanted the child for.   
  
  
  
  
As the weeks slowly crept by, Wraith slipped into a habit of invisibility. She woke at dawn, ate alone, and would either wander the grounds in silence or hide herself in the library. She devoured books like a starving child, starting with the children's stories that occupied the lower shelves, but developing her skills as she went along. Narcissa noticed a passion for histories in the girl that neither she nor Lucius shared.   
  
She was a courteous and quiet presence in the Manor, but the Malfoys could never allow themselves to forget she was there. As gracious a guest as she was-she was a guest of the Dark Lord's and an enigma at that. She puzzled them with her very existence. As they watched over her, she gave them no hint as to  _why_  the Dark Lord had brought her out of Azkaban and into their care. There was no hint to what powers she may or may not have had, save that Narcissa had observed the girl now had several different dresses. But their house-elf had confirmed in his cleaning that the girl had no wand hidden away.     
  
It begged the question-Just what  _was_  the girl?  
  
They were relieved that as the weeks progressed, she seemed to gain strength and had certainly lost some of the gauntness of her appearance. She was slowly looking more and more like the young woman she was, rather than the ghost she was named.   
  
Bellatrix had spent the first week whispering poison in her sister's ear, asking question and question about the girl that Narcissa had no answer to. It left Bellatrix discontent and she began to spend more and more time away from the Manor. This was nothing but a relief to Wraith, and though she wouldn't admit it, to Narcissa as well.   
  
And as the mystery of Wraith grew, the more the Malfoys began to wonder how she might be of use to them.  
  
Just about the time that they had truly begun to ponder this, Wraith began to ask if they had heard anything from the Dark Lord. It made both Narcissa and Lucius wary of her, the way that the girl so obviously  _missed_  him. She did not ask every day, but the question was always in her eyes.  
  
  
  
  
It was mid-February when Wraith heard the music coming from a room just down the hall from the library. The sound was soft and simple, but it seemed to call to her. She set aside the book on her lap and left the sanctuary of her room, wandering down to find the source.   
  
The door was not completely shut and Wraith cautiously peeked into the room. She saw Narcissa sitting inside, listlessly playing on a grand piano. There was dust on the black surface of it and Wraith could see untouched chairs and a handful of other instruments. She leaned against the doorframe and listened to Narcissa play.  
  
When the melody limped to an end, Narcissa lifted her head and started when she saw Wraith standing there. The older woman flushed slightly and said nothing.   
  
Wraith took a step into the room. "What was that?" she asked, staring at the piano.  
  
"Just music," Narcissa replied. "I was just…passing the time. It was nothing." She stood quickly, but Wraith remained where she was.   
  
"Could you…teach me?"  
  
The soft question made Narcissa pause. There was a deep longing on the girl's face.  _It cannot hurt_ , she thought. "I suppose," she said, moving to a dusty cupboard in the corner. She pulled it open to reveal shelves of sheet music. She took out a few books and sat down at the piano again. "Sit beside me," she instructed and waited until Wraith had done so. She opened one book and touched the first page. "The first thing you must learn is how to read the music itself…"


	6. The Passage of Time

_The war was a mirror; it reflected man's every virtue and every vice, and if you looked closely, like an artist at his drawings, it showed up both with unusual clarity._  
  
  
  
  
Days in the Malfoys' grand home settled into a schedule of sorts as the weeks continued to pass by. Wraith still spent most of her time alone, either in the library or her rooms, but afternoons were given to Narcissa.   
  
Narcissa would only give her an hour or so a day for lessons on the piano, but the girl would often return to the music room to practice on her own. Sometimes she would repeat the lesson to herself and other times she would simply play randomly. It was as if the notes themselves enchanted the girl.   
  
In these lessons and outside of them, Narcissa began to note small changes in Wraith's demeanor and even her appearance. She stopped wearing her dresses with the trailing sleeves. Instead, she shortened them to end at her wrist, so that they would not interfere with her playing. And though she remained in the darker spectrum, she added color here and there to her wardrobe. Over the simply cut dresses, she added vests and bodices of dark blues and purples, clever embroidery.   
  
But however simple the changes were, they baffled Narcissa until the older woman saw sketches and illustrations of similar dresses in Wraith's favorite books. Knowing where the ideas came from helped Narcissa to study them with a practiced eye and she had to admit that she approved of the changes. Wraith had continued to gain needed weight and though she was still very pale, it no longer had the unhealthy pallor she had come to the Manor with. Wraith would never be truly beautiful, but Narcissa began to see that, when she tried, the girl could be lovely.   
  
After a little more than a month of daily lessons, Wraith was reading and playing the music put before her moderately well, and Narcissa told her to continue on her own. And once more, Wraith was left to her own devices. She would shut herself in the music room and play, a soundproofing charm on the door, or she would return to the library. It became increasingly rare for the Malfoys to see her at all.   
  
  
  
  
It was late evening when Wraith left the music room, intending to return to her bedroom. But as she started down the stairs to the second floor, she distinctly heard the front doors open and close. She stopped on the landing, mere feet from her own door, and listened intently. Save for the murmur of voices below, the house was silent. Wraith knew, somehow, that it could not be her Lord returning for her. But curiosity nonetheless called her down the stairs. She paused again halfway down and looked the newcomer over.  
  
One glance told Wraith that he had to be Narcissa and Lucius's son, for he was the very image of his father. He stood near the door, a trunk behind him, and his mother speaking in hushed tones to him. His father was nowhere in sight, but Wraith suspected that he was nearby.   
  
Draco looked up, having heard her footsteps, and scowled imperiously. But his impressive scowl withered and died when she showed no reaction to it at all. Narcissa paled a little when she followed her son's gaze up the stairs. "My son," she said, drawing his attention back to her by putting a hand on his cheek, "it's good to have you home."  
  
Draco saw the fear in his mother's eyes and hated the strange girl instantly for putting it there. "Who is  _she_?" he demanded bluntly. He thought her too young to be of any importance. She had to have been around his age at the most. "Why is she here?"  
  
"You sound like your aunt."  
  
Draco and Narcissa turn sharply at her words. They watched her descend the stairs and seeing her strange broken eyes, Draco felt a touch of his mother's fear. It disturbed him that those eyes never met his face. There was something very off about her, obvious even to him.   
  
"Bellatrix asked those same questions," Wraith said, coming to a stop at the bottom of the stairs, "-the night that the Dark Lord brought me here."  
  
Was that humor in those strange eyes? Or was Narcissa imagining it?  
  
"You must be Draco." Her voice was deceptively mild.  
  
"Yes," he said, feeling a line of sweat travel down his spine, icy cold. "How did you…?"  
  
"You look like you father," Wraith said, giving him a respectful nod. "My name is Wraith," she continued, glancing at Narcissa. "Your parents have been kind enough to let me stay in their home-at our Lord's request." She raised an eyebrow. "Does that answer your questions?"  
  
Draco nodded, unspeaking. Wraith's face was graced by that familiar little half-smile-and Narcissa realized that she didn't like it very much. It was a mocking expression and Narcissa wondered why she had not seen it before.   
  
When Wraith tilted her head to the side and turned away, Narcissa shivered as a second realization came to her. When Wraith smiled like that-it brought Voldemort to mind.  
  
"Welcome home, Draco," Wraith said, stopping halfway up the stairs again. She looked around, eyes upward as she continued. "Don't worry-I don't think I'll be here much longer."  
  
  
  
  
Sometime after midnight, Draco left his room, unable to sleep where he had once been content with his life. It didn't matter what his mother insisted-he wasn't home.   
  
He stalked down the stairwell and entered the parlor, but stopped cold when he realized he wasn't alone in the room. He felt a flash of irritation and fear to see Wraith sitting at one of the windows, a book open in her lap. She glanced up at his entrance and his fear outweighed his irritation by tenfold. He cleared his throat, "Couldn't sleep," he said shortly. "Do you mind if I sit?"  
  
"Of course not," Wraith told him, turning her attention back to her book. "It is your home."  
  
"No, it isn't," Draco muttered. "It hasn't been our house for years now."  
  
Wraith could find nothing of comfort to say-he was completely right.  
  
Draco hesitated and then sat with her at the window. "Are you a witch?"  
  
Wraith didn't look up from her book, though she had stiffened imperceptibly when he sat. "No."  
  
"But you're more than a Muggle," Draco said, watching her face. "My mother says you've got to have magic."   
  
"Has your mother ever seen me practice magic?" Wraith asked him.  
  
"N-no."  
  
"Then how do you know she isn't wrong?" She lifted her eyes and just briefly met his.  
  
"She's not wrong," Draco said after a moment, conviction in his voice.   
  
"No," Wraith agreed. "No, she's not."  
  
Draco hesitated, though he had a thousand more questions. "Er-"  
  
Wraith looked up again. "Ask," she told him. "If I don't like the question, I won't answer. But it doesn't hurt to ask."  
  
"My mother said that the Dark Lord brought you here himself," Draco said. "So did you. Why?"  
  
Wraith sighed. "When the Dark Lord found me, I was very weak. I was too thin, unhealthy. He brought me here to recover my strength."  
  
"How old are you?"  
  
Wraith had to think about that. "Seventeen," she said at last, "or somewhere around there. I don't know when my birthday is. Maybe I'm eighteen. I'm not sure." She looked out the window and smiled just slightly. " _He_  will know. I'll ask him when he comes to fetch me."  
  
"You said that he 'found you'. Where did he find you?"  
  
Wraith did not reply.   
  
 _Okay-she didn't like that question_. "Never mind," he said quickly.   
  
"Do you have more questions?"   
  
Draco shook his head, clearly lying. But Wraith appreciated it. She shut her book and stood. He did the same, almost automatically.   
  
"Goodnight, Draco," Wraith said. "You should try to sleep. You'll never manage it if you don't try. Take my word for it."  
  
"I'll try," he told her. "…Could we talk again? Another time?"  
  
Wraith tilted her head, curious. "I don't see why not." She turned, heading for the door.  
  
"Goodnight, then," Draco called after her.   
  
She lifted a hand, but did not look back at him.   
  
  
  
  
The next night, Wraith spent the evening in the music room. She drew a soft, almost haunting, lullaby from the piano that drifted through the room and down through the Manor like a cold wind.   
  
A shadow fell upon the keys, but Wraith did not stop playing until the very last note. She allowed the sober note to stretch on until it faded to nothing. It was only in the silence that followed that she spoke, not bothering to look at who stood in the doorway.  
  
"My Lord."


	7. The Dark Lord's Return

_"There is no evil without its advantages."_  
  
  
  
  
Voldemort smiled darkly. "Stand."  
  
Wraith pushed away from the piano, bowing her head as she got to her feet. Voldemort entered the room and placed a hand under her chin, lifting her face to his. "And have you been practicing?"  
  
Without taking her eyes from his, the piano lid suddenly slammed shut. Voldemort glanced down and watched as the pages of sheet music lifted as by a gentle wind. The pages circled around them in a dance. Wraith lifted a hand and caught one page between her first two fingers. She then snapped her fingers sharply and the page went up in flames.   
  
"Every day."  
  
The pages slowly drifted back to their proper place. Wraith waited until they were still before she continued.  
  
"It wasn't easy at first," she said, "but after a while, they simply left me alone. They suspect much-but know nothing."  
  
"Good girl."  
  
Wraith smiled and looked to the window. "They wouldn't know what I was even if I told them.  _I_  don't even know that much about it. Only you do."  
  
"You will learn," he told her, "as I see fit."  
  
"Of course, my Lord."  
  
He studied her. "You have done well," he said, bringing the light back to her eyes. "You will learn more of your powers from me, in order to reach your full potential."  
  
"So you will be my teacher?"  
  
He reached out to brush her cheek. "Precisely." He glanced down at the piano again. "And this?"  
  
Wraith looked down. "It was something I wanted," she said simply.   
  
"Hm."  
  
"Does it displease you, my Lord?"  
  
"No," he said after a moment. "It is of no concern to me."  
  
Wraith let out a small breath, relieved. "Narcissa has been teaching me," she said gently. "She and her family have been good hosts."  
  
"Then they shall be suitably rewarded."  
  
Wraith smiled just slightly and bowed her head again.    
  
A sudden and muffled gasp drew their attention to the door. Narcissa, pale and shocked, dipped into a curtsy for the Dark Lord. "M-my Lord," she said, breathlessly. "We-we did not know you had arrived."  
  
"Of course you didn't," Voldemort said. "I gave no warning." He turned his eyes back to Wraith. "I had hoped to come as a surprise to my Wraith."  
  
"Impossible, my Lord," Wraith said, tapping a finger to her temple.  
  
"As I had wondered," Voldemort said. "In any case, Narcissa, you may go and inform the rest of your house."  
  
"Yes, my Lord," Narcissa said quickly. She disappeared before another word could be spoken.   
  
"You obey quite well, my Wraith," Voldemort said, once more turning his attention back to her. "You must consider obedience a virtue prized above all else."  
  
"Yes, my Lord." She hesitated. "And my purpose, my Lord?"  
  
"We shall see," Voldemort replied ambiguously. "For now, it is enough that you remain a mystery. Come."   
  
He turned, gesturing for her to follow.  
  
  
  
  
By the time they reached the parlor, the others were waiting along the long table that Lucius had immediately conjured. Wraith saw two faces that she did not recognize, but assumed that they were Bellatrix's husband and brother-in-law. She had only ever heard their voices before. Lucius, Narcissa, and Draco were also there. When they realized that Voldemort had arrived, the assembled group quickly bowed-and in doing so, they also seemed to bow to Wraith, who stood behind him like a shadow.   
  
Everyone waited until Voldemort moved to the head of the table, Wraith trailing behind him obediently. "To my left," he told her in a murmur. "Always to my left." He took his place and a moment later, Wraith did the same. Around the table, the rest slowly sat as well.   
  
"Lucius," Voldemort said, gesturing to the man. "If you would?"  
  
Lucius swallowed and then stood, moving up the table to offer his left arm to the Dark Lord. Grasping his wrist, Voldemort pressed one long finger against the Dark Mark on the man's pale skin. The Mark burned black, calling forth the rest of their fellow Death Eaters. Voldemort smiled, releasing Lucius, and sat back to await the others' arrival. Lucius quickly sat back down again, grasping his arm against his chest.  
  
After a few minutes of complete silence, the parlor doors opened and several Death Eaters enter, slowly filling the seats around the table until only one empty chair remained-the chair to Voldemort's right.  
  
"Severus will not be joining us tonight," Voldemort said to his followers. "I've set him to a separate task that has precedence. Now," he said, gazing over each face and noting how everyone at the table was trying not to stare at the slim girl-child who sat beside him. "As to the reason I've called you here." He sat back, like a king upon his throne. "The Ministry has fallen-Albus Dumbledore is dead-and Harry Potter is all but neutralized as a threat to me-but there is work left to be done. Yaxley," he said sharply, "your report on the 'changes' in the Ministry."  
  
Yaxley cleared his throat and gave report to how well the Muggle-born Registration was doing and how many Muggle-borns had been discovered and imprisoned. He went on to speak of the continued hunt for blood-traitors and how many of them had already been caught, (though the Weasleys still remained at large). But he began to sweat and began to ramble, his point becoming lost as he tried to impress upon his Lord how well he was doing.  
  
Just as Voldemort was becoming impatient with the man, Yaxley's voice suddenly cut off with a hoarse gag. The man grabbed his throat and coughed weakly. He gasped, apparently trying to speak and failing utterly.   
  
Voldemort smirked at the man's discomfort and growing panic, and glanced to his left. Wraith looked back at him, a rather sly smile upon her face.   
  
"My apologies for the impertinence, my Lord," she said gently. "He was giving me a headache."  
  
"You are forgiven," Voldemort told her. He looked back at Yaxley, who was turning red. "You may, however, release him."  
  
Wraith nodded and flicked her hand in Yaxley's direction. The man drew in a great breath and began to cough violently. After a moment, it subsides and he was able to breathe easily again. He turned shocked and angry eyes to Wraith, who was watching Voldemort's face.  
  
Voldemort patted her hand and while the gesture was condescending, her eyes glowed nonetheless. "Good girl." The Dark Lord looked over the table. "Well, my loyal followers, perhaps it is time that I introduced the newest member of our little family." He gestured to her, without need as every eye in the room was already upon her. "This is Wraith. I already expect great things from her-you should all expect the same."  
  
There is a minute of heavy silence. Wraith bore the stares of the Death Eaters well, but she cracked a little under the pressure of their eyes. Her eyes wavered as she focused them upon the shadows cast by the fireplace behind her.   
  
Voldemort broke the silence before her weakness became apparent. "Now, Yaxley," he said, "you may continue-but I suggest that you be a little more concise in your report."  
  
  
  
  
"You can manipulate that which you cannot see."  
  
Voldemort stood before the fireplace in Wraith's rooms, staring into the flames in contemplation. Wraith stood in the pale light of one of the windows, considering what he had said.  
  
"I suppose so," she said when it was clear he waited on her answer. "I'd never tried before."  
  
"But you cut off Yaxley's air," Voldemort said. "You made it so he could not draw breath."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"So," he said, stepping over to her, "knowing this, what else can you do?"  
  
"I don't really know," Wraith said slowly, looking up to him. "What do you want me to do?"  
  
"That is  _exactly_  what I want to hear."   
  
He went to the door, trusting she would follow without complaint.


	8. Manipulation

_Morality, like art, means drawing a line someplace._  
  
  
  
  
Voldemort led Wraith out of the Manor and across the grounds to the gates. Just past the gates themselves, he stopped and held out his arm.   
  
"Take hold," he instructed her. "I will lead. You will follow."  
  
Wraith nodded, remembering how they'd arrived at the Manor in the first place. She put her hand on his arm and closed her eyes, concentrating on the path he took. Voldemort Apparated, turning where he stood, and a less than a moment later, Wraith followed him.   
  
When Wraith opened her eyes again, the first thing she saw was a derelict building before them, looming in the shadows. Gazing up at it in the dim moonlight, Wraith realized that, once upon a time, it had been a greater Manor than that of the Malfoys' home.  
  
Voldemort glanced down at her, and noticed that her hand was still on his arm. He stepped forward, drawing her along. "Come."  
  
Wraith walked alongside him to the front doors, which opened with a flick of his hand, but when he stepped over the threshold-she paused-just long enough for Voldemort to notice. He scowled and looked back to her.  
  
But his scowl faded when he saw the strange, lost look in her broken eyes…It was as if she were seeing something he could not.   
  
"Wraith," he called. " _Wraith_."  
  
She blinked several times and shook her head, lifting a hand to her face. "Forgive me, my Lord," she murmured quickly. "I don't know what happened."  
  
"Never mind," Voldemort said, as if he knew full well what had happened. "Follow."  
  
He led her down the hall, sweeping past the debris that littered it. As they walked, Wraith began to notice lights shining from beneath the closed doors that they passed. Perhaps it wasn't as derelict as she had originally thought.   
  
As they reached the end of the hall, a small man scrambled out of a room behind them. Wraith turned quickly, eyes flashing at the sudden intruder.   
  
The man came to a stop, almost tripping over his own feet as he hurried to bow. "My-my Lord!"  
  
"Wormtail," Voldemort said. "How fares our recent 'guest'?"  
  
"S-still alive, m-my Lord," Wormtail said hesitantly, obviously expecting a bad reaction. The man was stunned when Voldemort smiled in response.  
  
"Perfect," the Dark Lord said. "Wraith." He gestured to her and opened the door at the end of the hall. Wraith saw a stairwell leading down beyond it. Voldemort turned and started down the stair, but as she had at the doors, Wraith paused.   
  
Before he could snap an order at her, she wavered-and then collapsed, almost falling down the stairs past him. Voldemort caught her before she did, and putting a hand under her head, lifted her face to the light. He hissed in surprise when he saw that her eyes were open-and empty.   
  
Wormtail hesitated in the doorway, staring at the limp girl in the Dark Lord's arms. He watched in confusion as Voldemort narrowed his eyes and placed a hand along the side of Wraith's face. There was a strange sort of hum of power in the air and Wraith gasped in pain, her back arched. Voldemort almost lost his hold of her, but then she seemed to calm. She blinked slowly, life flooding back into her eyes.  
  
Voldemort lifted her to her feet and waited with a hand on her arm as she swayed. He took a firm hold of her chin and made her look up at him. She winced, for his grip was on the edge of painful.  
  
"What did you see?" he demanded.  
  
Wormtail didn't understand the question and judging by the expression on Wraith's face neither did she.   
  
But she frowned and closed her eyes, thinking. "Nothing," she said at last. "I saw nothing. But…I thought that I  _heard_  something."  
  
"What was it?"  
  
"It was a voice," Wraith said, her own low and distracted. "…a man's voice…I couldn't make out what he was saying. It was like he was shouting from miles away…and then…I thought…I could hear someone screaming." She opened her eyes and looked up at him, almost pleadingly. "My Lord…what's going on? What happened to me?"  
  
Voldemort released her. "Put it out of your mind," he told her firmly. "It is of no danger to you."  
  
For the first time, Wraith seemed tempted to argue with him-but in the end, she simply nodded and followed him down the stairs without further comment.   
  
By the time they'd reached the bottom, Wraith had come to realize that they were in a dungeon. She shivered at the sight of the cold metal bars, but followed behind her Lord closely nonetheless.   
  
Voldemort came to a stop in front of a cell that held a thin and bedraggled man. The man lifted his head and when he saw the Dark Lord, scrambled up and pressed his back against the far wall.  
  
"I've had a problem recently, my Wraith," Voldemort said softly, his eyes on the prisoner. "A problem-with loyalty. Not with my Death Eaters," he told her, "oh, no, never them. But with followers not within the inner circle. Lately, a number of them have been…undermining me. They've turned their back on me. They've fallen in too deep and think that they can just scramble their way back up again."  
  
He looked down at Wraith, who gazed up expectantly. "This man is one such fool. He attempted to lead an assassination against me. He failed, of course, and those that followed him have already been dealt with. He has been a guest of this dungeon for several weeks now. I have been trying to decide how best to make an example of him and others like him. I think I now know just the way."   
  
He took out his wand and tapped it to the bars of the cell, opening them. He stepped into the cell and Wraith followed without hesitation.  
  
Once more, Voldemort looked to Wraith.  
  
"Kill him."  
  
  
  
  
Wraith blinked, as if she did not comprehend. "My Lord?"  
  
Voldemort put a hand on her shoulder and pushed her forward. "Stop his heart," he ordered, "the way that stopped Yaxley's air."  
  
When Wraith simply stared up at him, he scowled and spoke more firmly. "Stop his heart."  
  
Wraith turned slowly to the condemned man, who stared back at her in confusion and distress. Wraith breathed deep and lifted her arm, pointing her hand in his direction. Her eyes closed and her mouth tightened in concentration. The man stiffened and he grabbed at his chest.  
  
But nothing happened.  
  
Wraith winced, without opening her eyes, and stepped forward until her fingertips touched the man's chest. The man had time to breathe once before her hand suddenly clenched into a fist.   
  
There was a snap of power, almost audible-and the man dropped.  
  
Wraith opened her eyes, hand still extended. She dropped her arm and looked down at the man on the ground. She stared transfixed at his open, empty eyes. It wasn't until Voldemort came up behind her and put a firm hand on her shoulder that she was able to look away.  
  
"Well done, my Wraith," Voldemort murmured, lifting his hand to run it down her hair. " _You_  shall make my example. This shall be your purpose."  
  
"My purpose?" Wraith repeated, lifting her head.  
  
"A man may dodge a curse," Voldemort said, smiling darkly, "but they can't dodge you, now can they?  
  
"You shall be my executioner."  
  
  
  
  
Voldemort took her back to the Manor. "I shall return for you tomorrow," he told her at the doors. "And we shall begin."  
  
After he had gone, Wraith closed the great doors and started up the stairs. She brushed past Draco halfway up, but did not acknowledge his presence whatsoever. She went straight up to her rooms, locking the door behind her without a thought.  
  
Once there, she fell back against the door and slid to the ground, eyes wide and unseeing.  
  
She didn't dare close her eyes again.  
  
  
  
  
The next morning, as she sat with her husband for breakfast, Narcissa heard the girl playing at the piano, the melody fast and furious. She frowned and pushed away from the table, eyes looking up at the ceiling. She'd never heard Wraith play that way.  
  
Sharing a quick and nervous look with Lucius, she left him to venture up to the music room alone. At the door, she knocked gently once she found it locked. A moment later, the music came to a stop and the door opened of its own accord.  
  
Narcissa cautiously stepped inside, seeing Wraith seated at the piano.  
  
"Good morning, Wraith," she called quietly.  
  
"Good morning, Narcissa," Wraith said in return, not turning towards her. "I'm sorry, did I disturb you? I forgot to charm the door."   
  
"No, no," Narcissa assured her. "It's just…we didn't know you were awake. We were just having breakfast…Bella isn't here…would you like to join us?"  
  
Wraith was silent.  
  
"No," she said, "no, thank you." Finally, the girl looked over her shoulder. "I think I want to stay here for a while."  
  
Narcissa hesitated, obviously wanting to ask about the night before.  
  
Wraith seemed to sense it. "The Dark Lord will return tonight," she said, almost as a warning. "He has another task for me."  
  
"Ah…we'll leave you to your music," Narcissa said, backing away. "I'll put a charm on the door for you."  
  
"Thank you, Narcissa."  
  
Narcissa slipped out of the room, closing the door and placing a silencing charm upon it. She slowly walked back down the hall and the stairs. When she reached the dining room, Lucius was waiting, his food still untouched.  
  
"Something has changed," Narcissa told him. "I'm not sure what-but she told me that the Dark Lord is coming back for her tonight…"


	9. The Color of Death

_Kill one man, and you are a murderer. Kill millions of men, and you are a conqueror. Kill them all, and you are a god._  
  
  
  
  
It was just before midnight when the Dark Lord returned to the Manor. When he entered, he saw Wraith hurrying down the stairwell at a dangerous pace, dressed in a plain black dress, her hair loose around her shoulders. She slowed when she saw him at the door and smiled slightly as she continued down to meet him.   
  
Narcissa watched from the parlor doors, an odd flutter of fear in her stomach as she looked at the girl.  _It's like some weight has been lifted off her shoulders at the sight of him_ , she thought in silent horror. … _By the stars-the child_  loves  _him!_    
  
She shuddered, but pressed forward to bow to the Dark Lord as he passed her. Voldemort nodded in acknowledgement of her presence, but did not stop.  
  
Wraith reached the bottom of the stairs just as he did and curtsied deeply to him, still smiling. Voldemort reached out to run a hand over her loose hair. "I have a gift for you," he told her.   
  
Wraith tilted her head to one side, curious, and Voldemort gestured up the stairs. Together, they went up, Narcissa noted, not arm in arm, but still-far closer than she would ever allow herself to the Dark Lord.  
  
As they entered her rooms, Wraith gestured towards the fireplace, where a fire is already burning brightly. With her slight gesture, a grand chair appeared before the hearth. Voldemort smiled slightly in approval and sat down, indication that she should do the same. Wraith perched on the edge of the couch across from him, looking at him expectantly.   
  
The Dark Lord lifted a hand and then twisted it. A white mask appeared in his grasp. Wraith looked at it, but did not reach for it. Voldemort held it out towards her.   
  
"All of my Death Eaters have a mask," he explained. "Yours is a little different."  
  
Wraith took the mask and examined it. It was pure white, but there were no eye holes. And then she realized.  
  
"It's my face."   
  
It looked as she did when she slept, exquisite in detail, right down to the eyelashes upon her cheek. She held the mask up to her face and realized that she could see through it as though it were not there at all. She placed it carefully in her lap. "Thank you, my Lord," she said, "I'll wear it proudly." She paused, staring down at her own face. "…You want people to know my face," she realized.  
  
"I want people to fear you," Voldemort told her. He stood and crossed over to her. He lifted her face up, running his thumb over her lip. "I need a weapon that will make my enemies quake in their beds…something- _someone_ ¬-that will bring them to their knees. They must be reminded of why it is meaningless to fight me. People think that they can fool me, escape me. You are not bound by the same limitations as they are…" His face twisted in disgust, "as I am."  
  
Wraith reached up to touch his hand. "They will fear me…and they will fear  _you_  more…for no other can command me."  
  
"Exactly," Voldemort said, pleased that she had caught on so quickly. He looked over her, realized that her hair was not yet brushed and her feet were bare. "Go and finish dressing," he ordered, his tone impatient. "Tonight, we shall strike at those that I  _know_  have betrayed me. Then we shall seek out the rest."  
  
"Yes, my Lord." Wraith stood and dipped in a smooth motion. Then she hurried to her bedroom, closing the door behind her.   
  
Voldemort walked around the room, noting how sparse it is. There were no further decorations or even any changes to it. There was no real sign that the girl had inhabited the room for the last few months, save for a small collection of books on the table beside the couch.   
  
Curious, he went to them, examining the titles. The faintest twinge betrayed the unease the Dark Lord felt when he saw that each book was a history. He glanced at the door before he took the book at the bottom of the pile, checked the title-and then tossed it swiftly into the fire.  
  
As he stood by the hearth, watching the pages burn, he heard the door open behind him. He turned and was surprised by what he saw.  
  
Wraith had brushed her long hair away from her face so that it fell straight down her back. Over the black dress, she now wore a snowy white bodice, which seemed to accent her paleness. She also wore white gloves over her thin hands. In her hand she held her mask.  
  
The tiniest smile tweaked her lips as she crossed to gather up her cloak and swung it over her shoulder.   
  
Voldemort circled her once and then stopped in front of her.   
  
"Why white?" he asked her.   
  
Her eyes flickered. "Something I read," she replied, "about black being the color of night-and white being the true color of death."  
  
Voldemort smiled in approval. "Clever." He reached up to pull the hood of his cloak over his head. Wraith closed her eyes and placed her mask over her face, and then pulled her hood up as well. In silence, she followed the Dark Lord out.   
  
  
  
  
Just outside the Manor gates was a group of Death Eaters, their faces masked as Wraith's was. Wraith thought that she recognized Bellatrix, however, by her dress. When the woman bowed to Voldemort and murmured a soft, "My Lord," Wraith was sure of it.   
  
Bellatrix seemed to stare at Wraith and her mask, on the edge of saying something, but Voldemort swept by her, Wraith in his shadow, and she remained silent.   
  
After the Dark Lord had started down the dark path, the Death Eaters began to follow. A few feet away, Voldemort held out his arm to Wraith, who placed her hand upon it. He vanished into the shadows, and one by one, his Death Eaters do the same.   
  
  
  
  
They arrived on a deserted London street. Wraith was caught off guard for a moment-for she had never seen a city before-but she recovered before anyone noticed.   
  
The Death Eaters entered the darkened building, following in Voldemort wake, and it wasn't until they reached the top floor that they stopped. Looking at the door before them, Wraith realized that there was light at the edges of it. It was the only door that they had passed that showed this single sign of life behind it.   
  
Voldemort gestured towards the door and a single Death Eater hurried forward to blast it open.   
  
Someone within screamed and there were a few scattered crashes as the people inside panicked.   
  
 _"He's here! They've found us!"  
  
"Run, everyone, run!"_  
  
Voldemort and his Death Eaters swept inside, casting curses around the room to keep their prey from escaping. Wraith saw five or so wizards and a couple of witches within, all with their wands in hand, ready to fight. Wraith remained close to her Dark Lord's side, but she was akin to a shadow, neither casting spells nor fighting them off.   
  
They came to the center of the room. "Bind them!" Voldemort ordered them. "I want them alive."  
  
There were flashes here and there within the room as curses were fired off. Several of their opponents fell to their knees, their arms at their sides as though they were bound by chains. The few that had blocked the curses remained standing, still in the fight.  
  
One wizard, who seemed to be the leader, threw a curse at Voldemort, his pale face twisted in fear and hate. Voldemort deflected the curse almost lazily and was ready to cast one of his own-but the wizard threw his next curse towards Wraith.  
  
The bright green light hit her squarely in the chest and she flinched, pressing a hand over her heart.   
  
But she did not fall.  
  
Everything seemed to slow, even time itself. One by one, everyone looked to Wraith, the Death Eaters' wonder quite plain even behind their masks and their victims fear obvious in their eyes.   
  
The stunned wizard who had cursed her stared at her in incomprehension. He lifted his wand again, but Voldemort quickly disarmed him before another curse could escape his lips. With another wave of his wand, Voldemort bound the man. The distraction Wraith had caused allowed the Death Eaters to capture each wizard and witch there with little effort.   
  
The Death Eaters gathered their captives together and further bound them to keep them from escaping. Voldemort gestured and the Death eaters create a loose circle around the prisoners.   
  
The Dark Lord began to walk within the circle, intimidating the captives terribly. Once he had circled back to where Wraith stood, he pointed his wand at the wizard who had tried to curse her.   
  
"Davies," Voldemort said, speaking to the wizard. He flicked his wand and the wizard was pulled to his feet, still bound. "I expected better from you. It was far too easy to find your misbegotten little band."  
  
Davies scowled, but there was fear in his eyes. "Someone will bring you down," he hissed, "Someday…somehow…they'll bring you down."  
  
"Perhaps," Voldemort said, gesturing to Wraith. "But it won't be you."  
  
Wraith stepped forward to stand beside the Dark Lord, her eyes on Davies.  
  
"Wh-who are you?" Davies asked her. " _What_  are you?"  
  
Wraith was silent, considering him, and then she glanced at Voldemort.  
  
The Dark Lord smiled. "You've betrayed your lord," he said to Davies, "and your punishment is death."  
  
Wraith took a step forward and touched his chest as she spoke in a soft whisper, "I am your executioner."  
  
Davies's eyes widened and he opened his mouth to speak again. But then his eyes rolled up into his head and he slumped. The binding on him was lifted and his body tumbled to the floor.   
  
A panic flew through the remaining captives and one of the witches screamed.  
  
"He's dead!"  
  
"She killed him!"  
  
"But she only  _touched_  him!"  
  
Wraith was stoic against the tide of the voices. Again, she looked to the Dark Lord in question.   
  
"Do not pity him," Voldemort said, silencing them. "In fact, you should be envious of him. None of you will receive the same quick and painless death. My Death Eaters," He turned to the circle, "…enjoy your new playthings."  
  
He stepped out of the circle, Wraith behind him. They go to the door, but the Dark Lord paused there.   
  
"…Leave at least one alive. They must be allowed to spread the warning."  
  
He stepped out, but Wraith paused just a moment more, turning her head to glance at the body on the floor one last time before she turned and walked away.  
  
On the stairs, she heared Bellatrix's delighted laughter and shivered at the screams that followed.


	10. Marked

_Nearly all men can stand adversity, but if you want to test a man's character, give him power._  
  
  
  
  
The next day, Wraith rose later than usual. She had woken at dawn as was her habit, but for hours, she could not bring herself to move. It was almost noon before she left her rooms and cautiously made her way down the stairs. She was thirsty and she knew she ought to eat something, but she was wary of Bellatrix's presence, especially after the night before.  
  
She entered the dining room and was slightly startled to see Draco. He was sitting at the table, an untouched mug of tea in front of him. Draco looked up when she entered and he paled, standing quickly and muttering an excuse to leave.  
  
But Wraith lifted a hand to silence him and he froze. "You don't have to leave," she told him gently. "I was just going to get something to drink, and take it up to my room."  
  
Jiri heard her voice from the kitchen and poked his head into the room. Wraith stepped around the table and knelt, making a soft request to the house-elf that Draco could not hear. But as the house-elf left, Wraith straightened and looked to Draco again. Her face was blank.  
  
"I suppose your father told you about last night."  
  
Draco started to nod and then cleared his throat. "Well, mostly it was Aunt Bellatrix."  
  
"I'm sure she had plenty to say," Wraith murmured dryly.  
  
Draco looked at her for a long moment. "Is it true that you survived a killing curse?"  
  
"Was  _that_  was he was trying to do?" Wraith asked, a little amused. "No wonder they all reacted that way." She smiled slightly and held out a hand. "Try to cast a spell on me, Draco. Anything that comes to mind."  
  
Draco swiftly shook his head.  
  
"You won't hurt me," Wraith told him. "You can't."  
  
Again, he shook his head.  
  
Wraith sighed and shrugged lightly. "Alright," she said, "then I'll explain. I am…immune to any magic but my own. If you had cast a spell, it would have had no effect on me whatsoever. Only a very powerful wizard or witch can affect me at all, and even then…well, it wouldn't do much."  
  
She sat down at the table and Draco slowly did the same. She held out her hand, gesturing for Draco's. He hesitated and then gave her his left hand. She pushed his sleeve down to see the Dark Mark there.   
  
"An example," she said, "the Dark Lord tried to place the Dark Mark on my arm, like he has for all of his Death Eaters. The Mark appeared for a moment, but then it faded completely."  
  
"What are you?" Draco asked.  
  
Wraith let go of his arm, her face blank once more. She shrugged once more and said nothing.  
  
  
  
  
When the sun had set on the day, Wraith returned to the parlor to await the Dark Lord's return. She wasn't alone, for both Lucius and his son idled within the room as well. As Wraith paced the floor back and forth, she suddenly turned to Draco.  
  
"Draco?" she called. "May I ask a favor?"  
  
Draco was hesitant and his father's face tightened visibly.  
  
Wraith sighed impatiently. "I'm not going to bite you, Draco."  
  
His pride wounded by her mocking tone, Draco stood and crossed the room to her. "What is it?" he asked, gruffly.   
  
"Let me see your Mark again?"  
  
Draco rolled back his sleeve and held out his arm. Wraith looked at it, and then sat on the couch in front of the fire, pulling Draco with her. Her face was focused upon the Mark. She held a hand over it and murmured, "This may sting."  
  
"I thought you said you wouldn't hurt me," Draco said nervously.  
  
"I said I wouldn't  _bite_  you. Now hold still."  
  
She pressed her hand against the Mark and closed her eyes, drawing in a deep breath. Draco's arm jerked under her hand and he winced, but he tried to stay as still as he could. Slowly, Wraith lifted her hand. There was a crackle in the air, like static, and she carefully pressed her hand on her left forearm. She let out the breath she'd been holding and the power dissipated. Draco blinked and shook his head, his ears ringing.  
  
Wraith held up her arm and smiled when she saw the faint Mark there. "I think it worked."  
  
"What worked exactly?" Lucius asked, approaching the couch. Draco rubbed his arm, frowning as he looked between Wraith's Mark and his own.  
  
"There are some things, spells, that I can mimic or copy," Wraith explained. "I wanted to see if I could create the Mark myself, since the Dark Lord could not." She turned her head to the parlor doors. "Speaking of…"   
  
She trailed off as she stood. She reached the doors, pulling them open just as Voldemort reached them. The Dark Lord paused on the threshold, giving her a look. Wraith's smile was almost impish as she tapped a finger to her temple.   
  
"I have a gift for you," she said, echoing his words from the night before.  
  
"Oh? Pray tell."  
  
She held up her arm, shaking back her sleeve to show him the Mark. Voldemort took hold of her wrist and examined the Mark carefully.   
  
"How did you manage that?"  
  
"Draco helped me," she said, gesturing to where he sat. "I copied the Mark from his arm." She tilted her head to the side. "Want to see if it works?"  
  
"Draco," Voldemort called, "Come here."  
  
The young man hurried over, his pale face drawn. Voldemort let go of Wraith's wrist to grasp Draco's. He pressed a finger to the Mark, burning it black. Draco winced-and so did Wraith.  
  
She smiled again, holding out her arm to show that her Mark has burned black as well.  
  
Voldemort smiled darkly. " _Very_  good, my Wraith," he said, turning to her and holding her arm as he looked the black Mark over. Wraith's eyes were bright as she looked up at him.  
  
Lucius came up behind his son and placed a firm hand on Draco's shoulder, drawing him back a little.   
  
Voldemort caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and released his hold on Wraith. "Your fellow Death Eaters shall arrive shortly," he told her. "Be ready to leave when they are here."  
  
  
  
  
When the Death Eaters arrived, Voldemort had settled into a chair in front of the fire. One wizard, Dolohov, cautiously approached the Dark Lord.  
  
"Is it true, my Lord, that Hogwarts will not reopen in the fall?"  
  
Voldemort nodded once. "While it has been useful to have many of my enemies' children under my grasp-the fact remains that having them at Hogwarts allows them to band together. And I have underestimated children far too often in the past."  
  
"Will it remain closed?" Lucius asked.  
  
"I imagine that I will reopen it a few years from now," Voldemort said, "when the worst of the agitators could not return."  
  
He lifted his serpentine eyes to the doorway to see Wraith return. Once more, she had donned the black dress and white bodice, but there were also twisting, almost thorny white designs on her sleeves. Her mask was in her hand, and her eyes flickered across each of the Death Eaters as they turned to stare at her. She affected a detached air and her eyes fell to where Voldemort sat. She waited there by the door until he gestured to her, and then crossed to him through the small group gathered in the parlor.  
  
In front of his chair, she curtsied deeply and remained low. Voldemort smiled and waved to the hearth beside the chair, silently inviting her to sit. Wraith smiled slightly and sat on the hearth, betwixt him and the fire, one hand resting upon the armrest of his chair. More confident at his side, she looked over the Death Eaters again, in an almost challenging gaze.  
  
Voldemort saw the direction her sharp eyes took and he too looked to his Death Eaters.  
  
"Did I not tell you," he said softly, his eyes on Bellatrix, "to expect great things from my Wraith?"  
  
There was silence until Voldemort spoke again.  
  
"None of you should have a thing to fear from her," he said, "for you are all completely loyal to me."  
  
It was a warning and those gathered there took it as such. Wraith did her best not to smile.  
  
"Besides," Voldemort said, touching a finger under Wraith's chin, "she'll make out task all but effortless. People are so much easier to manipulate…when they're afraid."  
  
He smiled slowly and it was answered by Wraith's.


	11. Fear

_For life be, after all, only a waitin' for somethin' else than what we're doin'; and death be all that we can rightly depend on._  
  
  
  
  
"We have a problem."  
  
McGonagall turned to see a familiar black-haired witch. "What is it, Hestia?"  
  
"You-Know-Who has started hunting down the rebels. Davies and his group were attacked last night."  
  
McGonagall sighed deeply and rubbed tired eyes beneath her glasses. "Survivors?"  
  
"Two," Hestia told her softly, "but they're in bad shape."  
  
"Were they able to tell us what happened?"  
  
"Y-yes," Hestia said, "however…"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Well, the Healers aren't sure if what they're saying should be taken seriously."  
  
"Why not? Are they spouting gibberish?"  
  
"I certainly hope they are."  
  
The tone in the witch's voice caught McGonagall's full attention. "What precisely are they saying?"  
  
"That when You-Know-Who found them, he had a girl with him--a young woman with a Death Eater's mask."  
  
"Another new recruit, no doubt," McGonagall said.  
  
"Apparently in the battle, she took a killing curse to the chest…and she didn't die. It didn't affect her at all."  
  
"Impossible," McGonagall said decisively.  
  
"That isn't all," Hestia said.  
  
"Go on."  
  
"She's the one who killed Davies…"  
  
"Alright, I'll admit that it's odd that You-Know-Who didn't do that himself but--"   
  
"…By touching him."  
  
McGonagall paused, absorbing the words, but not truly believing them. Finally, she shook her head. " _Impossible_ ," she murmured. "We need more information," she said after a long moment of thought. "We  _have_  to know if this is something imagined by them or-or if it is the truth."  
  
"We can set a trap."  
  
McGonagall and Hestia turned at the voice. A young witch, Nicole Meadows, if McGonagall remembered correctly, she was only twenty-two, but far too young for the ice cold look in her eyes.   
  
"You-Know-Who's looking for rebels? So we feed him false information and draw him into a trap."  
  
"You-Know-Who gathers most of his information through torture," McGonagall said waspishly. "How would you propose we 'feed' him false information?"  
  
Nicole flushed angrily, her temper easily pricked. "We could find a way." Her tone suggested the worst.  
  
McGonagall's eyes narrowed. "Keep in mind, Miss Meadows, just what it is we are trying to  _save_  here." She had a flash of pity for the girl, knowing full well what had happened to her parents mere months ago. Her tone softened a smidge. "We must not sink to our enemies' level, Nicole. In doing so, we'd be doing their work for them."   
  
She saw no understanding in the young witch's eyes and sighed.  
  
"We'll speak on this later," she said firmly. "Hestia, see what more you can find out about the girl."  
  
  
  
  
Deep within the Ministry of Magic, a wizard named Trevelyan was working at his desk, now and again glancing up at the clock on the wall. He sighed his boredom as he pushed his way through tedious paperwork.  
  
The quiet monotony was shattered as the door to his office was blown open. Trevelyan yelled, scrambling to his feet with his wand out, half of him knowing what has come for him.  
  
When a tall, hooded figure entered the office, followed by several others, he was certain. He lowered his wand slightly. "My Lord."  
  
"Am I?" Lord Voldemort asked him. "You don't sound certain, Trevelyan. I wonder why that is?"  
  
"My Lord? I do not understand--"   
  
There was a flash and a thin cut appeared just below Trevelyan's eye.  
  
"Do not play games with me, Trevelyan. I know you were approached by Davies. I know how much you considered joining his foolish cause."  
  
Trevelyan paled, but he was smart enough not to deny it.  
  
"I have questions for you," Voldemort told the wizard. "You had better have the answers I need."  
  
Trevelyan felt a touch of defiance. "And if I don't?"  
  
Voldemort smiled and looked to the figure to his left. Wraith nodded and stepped forward, reaching up to remove her mask as she did.   
  
Trevelyan frowned at the young woman before him. "Who are you?" he demanded.  
  
Wraith raised an eyebrow and continued to stride forward. "Who am I?" She touched a hand to his chest and pressed, making him walk backwards. "It would be far more appropriate to ask ' _what_  am I?' and  _what_  I am," she said as his back hit the wall, "is your death--unless you answer our Lord's questions to his satisfaction." She tilted her head to the side. "Do you understand?"  
  
Voldemort became visible just over her shoulder. "Trevelyan," he said, "Where was Davies's other sanctuary? Where are the rest of them?"  
  
"I-I don't--I don't know," Trevelyan stammered. "I mean--I don't know for  _sure_."  
  
"Go on," Voldemort told him.  
  
"There was a m-meeting place," he said, "a few weeks b-back: A warehouse just outside the city. They didn't say so--but I got the impression that a number of them were staying there. I-it's the only place I can think of."  
  
"Who came to this 'meeting'?"  
  
"I don't know."  
  
"Wraith."  
  
Trevelyan gasped when his heart gave a sudden lurch inside his chest, as though someone had reached inside and squeezed it tight.  
  
"Don't be stupid," Wraith murmured to him. "I wasn't bluffing when I said I would be your death."  
  
"Answer the question, Trevelyan," Voldemort told him. "You will not get a second warning."  
  
Trevelyan sobbed once and then began to rattle off names. They meant nothing to Wraith, but she saw that the Dark Lord's interest was piqued at a few of them. When Trevelyan ran out of names, Wraith stepped back from him.  
  
Voldemort touched a hand to her shoulder. "Time to go. I have what I need from him."  
  
The Death Eaters turned to leave, Voldemort and Wraith included.  
  
But Wraith glanced over her shoulder as they left, and watched as Trevelyan slowly slid to the floor, a hand over his eyes as his shoulders shook.  
  
  
  
  
Sitting in front of the fireplace in her rooms, Wraith watched the fire dance and mulled the night's events over in her mind. Beside her sat Voldemort in the chair she conjured for him the night before. When she glanced up at him, she saw that his eyes were also on the flames and he seemed deep in thought.  
  
On an impulse, Wraith moved closer, folding her arms on the armrest and then placing her chin upon them. When the Dark Lord looked at her curiously, she asked, "Do you think he told the truth?"  
  
"I'm fairly certain," Voldemort replied. "Men like Trevelyan don't do well under stress. I don't believe he had enough wits about him to come up with a creative lie."  
  
"But will he warn them, do you think?"  
  
"I highly doubt it," Voldemort said. "The man is a coward. He wouldn't risk his own skin, nor would he dare my anger a second time."  
  
On his own impulse, he reached towards her. Wraith closed her eyes while he ran his hand over her hair in an absentminded gesture. She laid her cheek upon her arms, sighing.  
  
Voldemort considered her. He thought of how he could never tolerate foolish animals such as a dog or a cat, and while he often had the company of snakes, including his Nagini, they were never what he considered 'pets'. But this was the word that came to mind as he stroked her hair. He shifted in his chair, seeming to study the graceful line of her neck as he combed her hair back.  
  
 _There isn't a single living creature on this earth that would let me this close-without even a trace of fear…save for this one._  
  
"Do you fear me?" he asked her.  
  
"Only a fool would not, my Lord," Wraith murmured sleepily.  
  
"Then why is it," Voldemort says, holding his hand against the pulse on her neck, "that your heart beats so steadily?"  
  
Wraith lifted her head to look at him. His hand remained on her neck.   
  
"I'm used to fear, my Lord."  
  
"You've mastered it?"  
  
"I wouldn't say that," she said hesitantly. "But I grew up in the company of Dementors. You learn to live with it…" she smirked, "…or you don't."  
  
Her eyelids were growing heavy and she blinked slowly to hide it. Voldemort tilted his head to the side and then stood. "Rest, my Wraith," he ordered. "You'll need your strength tomorrow night."


	12. Whispers

_Hatred comes from the heart; contempt from the head; and neither feeling is quite within our control._  
  
  
  
  
Rumors flew after a warehouse outside of London was found filled with bodies-and one sole survivor. As the others had, the hysterical witch spoke of a stranger young woman who killed three of her companions with a touch of her hand. A new and dark panic overtook the Wizarding World, but those that had the most to fear were the Dark Lord's very supporters.  
  
In a few short weeks, tales of his 'Wraith' spread like wildfire, among his supports and enemies alike, though very little was actually known. But what  _was_  known caused all to become wary of their own shadows. Her apparent 'immortality' fed a great many speculations, as did her ability to kill with only a touch.   
  
People began to whisper that the Dark Lord had found an ally in Death itself, manifested in the innocuous form of a young woman. A short lived rumor claimed that the girl was the snake Nagini in human form, but it died when the great snake was seen with the both of them in the Malfoys' Manor. Still others whispered that the Dark Lord had found himself a Dark  _Lady_  and that she ruled the Death Eaters as much as he did.  
  
It was true that the Death Eaters gave her a reverence only surpassed by what they gave the Dark Lord, though most did it out of fear rather than awe. The Dark Lord set her above them, set her apart. He made it clear that if they failed him, hers would be the last face they would see.  
  
As it was, the Dark Lord spent much of his time with her by his side, fueling rumors this way and that. She was the Dark Lord's shadow, his constant companion as he hunted those that would dare to betray him.   
  
  
  
  
Late in the night, nearly two months after the attack on the warehouse, Voldemort sat by the fire in her rooms once more, watching his Wraith out of the corner of his eye. She was lying across the couch, her legs curled up along the top of the couch itself, arms outstretched to where Nagini slithered across the floor in near silence. Slowly, the snake lifted her head and slid partway onto the arm of the couch, where Wraith could reach her better. The little smile on her face was the only clue that this delighted the girl.  
  
Voldemort let out a breath that sounded suspiciously like a smothered laugh and Wraith looked at him.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Most of my loyal followers are terrified by my Nagini."  
  
"Hm." Wraith considered the words with that same little smile. "Well, we have that in common, don't we, Nagini?"  
  
The snake hissed and slid back to the floor, but still within the girl's reach.  
  
"What did she say?" Wraith asked the Dark Lord.  
  
"She agreed," he translated simply.  
  
"I wish I could speak to her like you do," Wraith said, almost wistfully.   
  
"It is a pity that Parseltongue was not one of your gifts," Voldemort agreed. "But you have enough of your own, I suppose."  
  
"Do you think you found the last of them?" Wraith asked.  
  
Voldemort knew she spoke of the betrayers.  
  
"I've eliminated the core, I believe. But they didn't do this all alone. Someone has been supplying them, making it possible for them to stay in hiding. I'll find out whom eventually."  
  
"Anyone foolish enough to betray you should be foolish enough to make another mistake," Wraith said softly.  
  
"I'm counting on it."  
  
  
  
  
It was early evening when Wraith retreated to her music room. She became so absorbed in a new and complicated piece of music that she did not realize that someone had entered the room and closed the door. But when the intruder took a step towards her, her finger froze and her head whipped around.  
  
Her broken eyes narrowed dangerously and she hissed, " _Watcher_." She pushed away from the piano and turned to face him. "What do you want?"  
  
Gavin smirked and leaned against the door. "I'm just doing my job."  
  
"It isn't your job anymore," she reminded him scathingly. "Get out. You are not welcome here."   
  
"Someone's putting on airs," Gavin sneered. "Just because you're the Dark Lord's 'pet' doesn't mean that you can order me."  
  
"No, it doesn't," Wraith agreed, surprising him.  
  
He smiled in triumph and crossed his arms with a condescending air.   
  
But Wraith's hands clenched into fists and Gavin was thrown quite suddenly across the room. He hit the far wall hard enough to shake the windowpanes and landed on the floor with in an ungraceful lump.   
  
He groaned and slowly lifted himself back up, wand in hand. He had enough mind to realize just how close he'd come to hitting the window and wondered vaguely if the window had been her actually goal.  
  
Wraith simply looked at him in revulsion. " _That_  does." She went to the door and opened it. "Get. Out."  
  
Gavin groaned again, a hand on his head as he stumbled past her and out the door.   
  
With an almost satisfied smile, Wraith shut the door and charmed it locked. She then went back to her playing as if nothing had happened to interrupt it.   
  
  
  
  
A few hours later, she stopped again and stood, moving to unlock and open the door. Voldemort stood in the doorway, his face expressionless. Wraith stood aside in an invitation for him to enter. He did so and immediately went to the piano to shut the lid. Wraith sensed that he was not entirely happy with her and remained silent. She closed the door and turned towards him, her head bowed.  
  
"Gavin claims that you used your magic against him."  
  
"I did," Wraith replied unapologetically. She lifted her head to meet his eyes. "He was harassing me, my Lord. I put a stop to it." Her tone hardened. "I do not care for Gavin, my Lord. I would prefer it if he left me  _alone_."  
  
Voldemort considered her and then said slowly, "If you are angry with him for placing you in Azkaban…"  
  
"No, my Lord," Wraith said, shaking her head. "I know he did that on your orders. I do not begrudge that to either of you. How could I? Still…I'd appreciate it if he would keep his distance."  
  
Voldemort's eyes narrowed. "What  _do_  you begrudge him, my Wraith?"  
  
Wraith's eyes fell and she looked away quickly.   
  
"Hm."   
  
Voldemort approached her and placed a hand around the back of her neck. "Very well," he said at last when it was clear she would not speak. "I'll order Gavin to leave you be. But I will want an answer to that question, my Wraith, should this become a problem in the future."  
  
"Yes, my Lord."  
  
He let her go and reached past her to open the door. "Come," he said, "that is enough for tonight."  
  
She followed him silently back to her rooms. He went to his chair by the fire, but she hesitated just behind the couch.  
  
"Are you angry with me?" she asked him softly.  
  
He looked at her and then shook his head. He gestured to her and the smile returned to her lips. She moved around the couch to sit at his feet, resting her cheek upon the armrest so that he could stroke her hair.


	13. Jealousy

_O, beware, my lord, of jealousy!  
It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock  
The meat it feeds on._  
  
  
  
  
No more than two weeks passed had passed before the Dark Lord returned to the Manor. Wraith had spent the better part of the afternoon and early evening on a new piece at the piano entitled 'Cristofori's Dream'. She enjoyed it, but it was time consuming to get it right.   
  
Just after sunset, she felt his return. Music forgotten, at least for a time, she hurried downstairs. She paused just outside of the parlor doors, for she could hear him speaking to someone within. Before she could enter, Narcissa came up behind her. Wraith gave her a rare smile and they entered the parlor together.  
  
Voldemort and Lucius stood behind the couch. The Dark Lord held out a hand towards Wraith, signaling for her to stand beside him. She quickened her step and stood close, head bowed to him.  
  
"Have you found something?" she asked.  
  
"Still searching," he told her.  
  
Wraith glanced at the Malfoys and then murmured something to the Dark Lord too low for them to hear. Narcissa felt the sting of fear in her breast when Voldemort's eyes narrowed, but the Dark Lord said nothing more than, "Come and sit." He moved over to one of the chairs near the fire and Wraith settled at his feet. Lucius and Narcissa sat on the couch, hands clasped between them.   
  
Voldemort stroked Wraith's hair as he studied the Malfoys. "You have done well, the pair of you," he said after a long and pressing silence. "My Wraith speaks quite highly of you and the courtesy you have shown her. She reminds me that I promised I would reward you accordingly."  
  
Lucius shared a rather nervous look with his wife. "M-my Lord," he said cautiously, "if…if our son, Draco…could stay with us a little longer…?"  
  
Voldemort closed his eyes and nodded once. "Very well."  
  
Wraith met Narcissa's eyes and smiled just slightly. Narcissa felt somewhat torn. She was terrified of the girl's power and her influence with the Dark Lord-and yet she was touched by the simple gesture, this gift that the girl had secured for them.   
  
Lucius let out a breath and bowed his head. "Thank you, my Lord. My wife and I are grateful."  
  
Voldemort looked to Wraith, who had turned her eyes up to him again.  
  
"If you would leave us?"  
  
Lucius and Narcissa stood immediately and bowed before hurrying out. Wraith turned her head to watch them go, but Voldemort touched her face, turning it back towards him. He looked over her dress, noting the dark green bodice.  
  
"I find I enjoy seeing that color on you," he told her.  
  
"Then I will wear it more often," she said simply.  
  
"I trust that Gavin has not bothered you further?"  
  
"I've not seen hide nor hair, my Lord. Thank you."  
  
"Hm. Go on upstairs," he told her. "I've one more meeting here before I leave. I shall return tomorrow."  
  
Wraith bowed her head and then slowly stood. "Then I'm for bed," she said. "Goodnight, my Lord."  
  
He watched as she left before turning to look at the fire to wait.  
  
  
  
  
Less than an hour later, Voldemort went up the stairs in silence until he reached Wraith's rooms. He entered the first room and saw that she was not there. He moved over to her bedroom door and heard running water in the bathroom beyond. Out of curiosity he tried the door, only to find it locked. He smirked and then simply sat in his chair by the fire.  
  
A few minutes passed and the door opened. Wraith poked her head out, long hair still damp from her bath. She was dressed in a long white nightgown, making her dark hair seem a shadow as it fell over her shoulder. She smiled just slightly and entered, closing her bedroom door behind her. "Evening, my Lord."  
  
He nodded to her, saying nothing. She sat on the floor, closer to the fire than usual, taking a brush through her damp hair. "I thought I wouldn't see you until tomorrow?"  
  
"The meeting took less time than I had thought it would."  
  
"Good." She glanced up at him. "Unless something has gone wrong?"  
  
"No, it is good. Am I keeping you up?"  
  
"Yes and no," she said.  
  
He gave her a look. "Meaning?"  
  
"Yes, you are. No, I don't mind."  
  
Voldemort scoffed. "You've quite a mouth behind that shy façade, my Wraith."  
  
She smirked, saying nothing against it. She finished brushing her hair and then glanced at the table in front of the couch, noting that something was missing. She stood, placing the hairbrush on the table as she moved to the door.   
  
"I'll be right back,' she said. "I left my book in the music room."  
  
" _Your_  book?"  
  
"The Malfoys' book that I am currently reading," she corrected evenly. She flashed a small smile over her shoulder before she disappeared into the hall.  
  
  
  
  
Bellatrix paced in her room, temper on the ragged edge. She knew from her sister that once again, the Dark Lord had paid a visit-and he had not seen her, had not asked for her. She gritted her teeth in frustration as she paced back and forth across the floor.  
  
From their bedroom, she heard Rodolphus. "Come to bed, wife."  
  
"In a minute," she snapped at him.  
  
"Your pacing does no good," Rodolphus stated plainly, coming to the doorway. "Come to bed and sleep your temper off."  
  
Bellatrix seemed to soften towards him. "In a minute," she repeated in something of a gentler tone. "I'll be there in a minute."  
  
Rodolphus hesitated and then slipped back into the bedroom. Bella sighed, still frustrated. She turned, frowning, when she heard footsteps in the hall.   
  
She opened her door a crack and peeked out. Her temper flared when she saw Wraith slip into the music room and then out again, clutching a book to her chest. In her white nightgown, she seemed more a ghost than usual. Bellatrix waited until Wraith had reached her own rooms and then slipped out into the hall to follow.  
  
She moved quickly, but quietly. At Wraith's door, she took out her wand out of habit and is grateful to find the door unlocked. She eased it open just a crack, just enough for her to see inside. She saw the fireplace and the Dark Lord seated in the chair beside it.  
  
Bellatrix's hands clenched when she saw Wraith settle on the floor at his feet, smiling up at him. Her vision went red when she watched as the Dark lord reached out to touch the girl's face and then as Wraith moved closer to lay her cheek upon the armrest. Voldemort stroked her hair, closing his eyes as if relaxed.   
  
Bellatrix took several deep breaths before she slowly closed the door and walked in a fog back to her and Rodolphus's rooms. She entered their bedroom, wand still in hand. Bellatrix pointed to her dresser, conjuring a wicked knife on the surface. She stalked over and grabbed it, looking it over with satisfaction.  
  
Her husband, already in bed, rumbled deeply, "Bella, what are you doing?"  
  
Without looking at him, she stalked back towards the door. "Removing a thorn from my side."  
  
She was almost to the door when Rodolphus was suddenly behind her. He grabbed her arm and held her back. He looked down at her face and then at the knife. Very slowly, he murmured, "You had best hit her heart." Bellatrix said nothing. "Wait until tomorrow, when our Lord is not here to witness it, you foolish woman."  
  
Seeing the sense in it, Bellatrix sighed and handed the knife to her husband. Rodolphus set it on a table nearby.   
  
"Now," he said, "come to bed, wife."  
  
"Whatever you say," Bella replied, smirking up at him, " _husband_."


	14. Enemy of Mine

_A man cannot be too careful in the choice of his enemies._  
  
  
  
  
The following day, Bellatrix was nowhere to be seen. Only Narcissa seemed to notice it and for whatever reason, she began to suspect trouble from her sister.  
  
In the early part of the evening, Wraith ventured downstairs after a day enclosed in her music room, and saw Narcissa brooding in the parlor.  
  
"Narcissa?" she called softly. The older woman turned. "Is something wrong?"  
  
Narcissa shook her head. "It's nothing."  
  
Wraith didn't believe her, but didn't press the point. "I'm going outside for a little while," she said instead. Narcissa nodded and Wraith decided to give up. She slipped back into the hall and then out the front doors.   
  
The day was coming to an end. It was raining, but only lightly, and the setting sun peeked through the clouds here and there. Wraith wandered the garden paths, breathing in the moist air and enjoying the sense of freedom it gave her. She stopped beside a rose bush and touched a hand to the soft, red petals.   
  
Gazing at the bright color, she felt a flash of unease, but could not figure the reason for it. She lifted her head and looked around. For just a moment, she had felt someone's eyes upon her. Still uneasy, Wraith went back into the grand house and wondered silently when the Dark lord would return.  
  
She had almost reached the stairs when she heard a footfall behind her. She turned quickly, her unease having already put her on guard, and saw Bellatrix a few feet behind her. Bellatrix threw something in her direction before Wraith could react. Moving too fast for Wraith to see, the dagger hit her. She stumbled with a cry of shock and fell to the ground.   
  
Bellatrix approached slowly, a smile twisting her lips into an ugly expression of triumph.  
  
To the side of the stair, the dining room door opened. Having heard Wraith's cry, Lucius, Narcissa, and Draco arrived in time to see Bellatrix's smile fade.  
  
Wraith slowly lifted herself into a sitting position and Bellatrix was able to see that the dagger was buried in the girl's shoulder, beneath her collarbone and not near close enough to her heart.  
  
Lucius quickly touched a finger to the Dark Mark on his arm, knowing what consequences would befall them if the Dark Lord's Wraith died at Bellatrix's hand.  
  
There was a stark and terrible expression on the girl's face as she slowly stood, gazing into Bellatrix's eyes. Very slowly and breathing deeply, Wraith lifted a hand to the hilt of the knife. In a sudden movement and with another sharp cry, she pulled the blade free of her flesh. Bellatrix's eyes widened as she watched the wound close and disappear, leaving only a trace of blood and a tear in the dress.  
  
Her expression unchanged, Wraith gripped the dagger and walked slowly towards Bellatrix, the air around her pulsing with menace. Bellatrix took a step back, pulling her wand free, forgetting that it would do her no good.  
  
"Wraith."   
  
The girl stopped, but it was very plain that she was holding herself back with great effort. Bellatrix turned to see Voldemort striding down the hall towards them and dipped quickly into a bow. He walked past her and circled around Wraith to stand behind her. Bellatrix turned to see him bend and murmur into the girl's ear. He held a hand beneath hers and waited. Very slowly, Wraith placed the dagger in his hand, her eyes still upon Bellatrix. Voldemort whispered to her again and she nodded once.   
  
Voldemort straightened and Wraith walked past Bellatrix to disappear into the parlor. Voldemort held up the dagger, studying the blood upon it. His inhuman eyes turn to Bellatrix and she felt a shiver course down her spine.  
  
"I expected better from you, Bella," he said softly. "Let us talk, you and I."  
  
He too walked past her and she followed him silently into the parlor.  
  
Wraith stood near a window, turning sharp eyes to Bellatrix the moment the witch entered the room. Voldemort stood between them and looked at each in turn.  
  
"Wraith," he said at last, drawing her attention to him. "I'm afraid I cannot allow you to take vengeance against Bella. She is, after all, one of my most loyal and trustworthy Death Eaters. She has served me well in the past and continues to do so."  
  
A hesitant smile came to Bellatrix's face and she flashed an overconfident look in Wraith's direction. But then Voldemort held up a hand and her smile faltered.  
  
"However," he says, "Bella dear, I cannot have  _you_  trying to kill my Wraith either. The role she plays is an important one and her loyalty matches your own. So," he said, circling around behind Wraith once more, "a compromise must be reached. Consider this your  _only_  warning, Bella: If you try to take my Wraith's life a second time-" He slipped the dagger back into Wraith's hand. "-she will be allowed to try and take yours in turn."  
  
 _And I would not fail as you did and would again_. The thought was clear to read in the girl's eyes as she slowly smiled.   
  
Bellatrix swallowed and tried not to shake. Voldemort smiled as well. "You are dismissed."  
  
Bellatrix turned, almost running out of the parlor and tries to slam the door behind her. Just before the door closed, however, the dagger flew across the room to bury itself in the frame. Bellatrix shrieked and they could hear her running down the hall.   
  
Still smiling, Wraith walked over and pulled the knife free.  
  
"That was almost cruel," Voldemort commented.  
  
"Just driving home the point, my Lord."  
  
"Vicious in a temper, aren't you?" Voldemort sounded almost approving.  
  
"I have never made but one prayer to God, a very short one: 'O Lord, make my enemies ridiculous.'" She turned back to him, "And God granted it."  
  
"Voltaire? I'm surprised."  
  
"He's amusing."  
  
Voldemort shook his head and his eye fell upon the blood still on the blade in her hand. "Come here, my Wraith."   
  
She approached him and stood quite still before him.   
  
"Where did it hit you?"  
  
Wraith lifted her free hand to touch the place where the wound had been. Voldemort noted the tear in the dress and saw the trace of blood on the fabric. He touched the tear and then pulled the collar of the dress down to see the blood upon her skin. "And that is the only trace?"  
  
"Yes, my Lord," Wraith replied. "The wound closed the moment I pulled the blade out." Her temper spiked. "She was really trying to kill me. If the blade had gone a little more to the left…"  
  
"Well, it is a good thing that Bella did not practice her attack, hm?" He considered her. "Are you still shaken, my Wraith?"  
  
"No, my Lord, I am  _angry_." She brushed past him to stand before the window again. "I could only hope that she would try again, but not even Bellatrix is that foolish." A thought suddenly occurred to her and she glanced over her shoulder at Voldemort. "But then, if she  _was_  that foolish, she would be of no further use to you and you would want to be rid of her anyway. And in proving that she isn't that stupid by not attacking me again, she proves her further worth to you."   
  
Voldemort smiled and came up behind her, putting his hands on her shoulders. " _Clever_  girl," he murmured. "That is precisely right."  
  
"Still," Wraith says, looking down at the blade in her hand, "a pity."  
  
On a sudden impulse, Wraith conjured a thin black belt and a sheath for the dagger. She slipped the belt on and sheathed the blade. Voldemort gave her a considering look and Wraith shrugged.  
  
"It can't hurt to remind her. Consider it my petty retribution, my Lord, since I cannot have the one I want."


	15. Her Equal

_Any fool can tell the truth; it takes talent to lie well._  
  
  
  
  
The aftermath of Bellatrix's attack on Wraith ached throughout the next week. Word had spread of the way that Wraith's wound had healed and the ultimatum the Dark Lord had given to Bellatrix. And Wraith made it impossible for Bella to forget that particular promise, for the girl went nowhere with the knife at her side. But all in all, the news was less staggering than previous and by the end of the month, it had simply become another story to be told.    
  
Near the beginning of June, Voldemort called for his Death Eaters to attend another meeting at the Malfoys' grand home. It would be the first since Wraith's introduction into the fold.   
  
While waiting for them to show, Wraith wandered outside and into the garden, unable to stomach the tension within the walls. But even after most of the Death Eaters had arrived, she waited still to see the arrival of the most important guest; the one the Dark Lord truly waited for.  
  
Finally, she spied the Dark Lord walking down from the Manor and towards the gate. Shortly thereafter, a hooded man Apparated there and bowed low to Voldemort. The two spoke in hushed tones before turning back towards the Manor. But halfway up the path, the Dark Lord stopped and looked towards the garden. He gestured to the other man and they changed course.  
  
Voldemort stopped beside a tall garden wall and glanced up.   
  
"Wraith."  
  
She smiled and sat up, making herself visible along the top of the wall. "Evening, my Lord." Her eyes fell upon the still hooded man.  
  
"Come down."  
  
"Yes, my Lord."  
  
She slipped down the other side and came around the wall. She wore a simple black dress that, in the darkness, accentuated her pale skin.   
  
"My Wraith," Voldemort said as she dipped low to him. He gestured to the stranger, who reached up to lower the hood of his cloak. Wraith saw a pair of calculating black eyes and a hooked nose. "This is Severus Snape. He has been watching over Hogwarts for me, else you would have met him long before now."  
  
Wraith looked to him with wide eyes. Snape bowed his head to her, but did not take his eyes from her as he did so. Wraith bowed her head in return.  
  
The three started up towards the manor once more, the Dark Lord slightly ahead of the others.   
  
"It's an honor to meet you at last," Snape said to her quietly. "You've created quite a stir…my Lady."  
  
Wraith's eyes narrowed and she suspected that she was being tested. "Don't call me that," she hissed at him. "It's ridiculous."  
  
Snape bowed his head once more. "As you wish."  
  
They reached the parlor and entered in silence, the rest of the gathering already seated. Voldemort took his place at the head of the table. Wraith sat to his left, Snape to his right. Once seated, Voldemort addressed his followers.  
  
"As many of you have heard, Hogwarts has closed and will not be reopening come September. The resistance against me is crumbling bit by bit, day by day. Allowing my enemies' children to band together in one place seemed…counterproductive.  For now, it shall serve as another outpost and possibly, as bait should the opportunity arise.  
  
"Rowle," he continued, changing the subject, "how fare our 'guests' at Slytherin Manor?"  
  
Wraith listened to the large blonde man's report, but she watched Snape out of the corner of her eye all the while. Every once in a while, his eyes would drift to her in turn.   
  
When the meeting drew to a close, Voldemort ordered that Snape remain after the others have gone. The table was cleared away as the Death Eaters left. The three Malfoys bowed to the Dark Lord and took their leave as quickly as they could manage. Bellatrix had already left with the others.   
  
Voldemort turned his chair more towards the fire behind him, while Wraith sat on the hearth itself, eyes still on Snape.  
  
"Severus, I must ask that you remain at Hogwarts," Voldemort told him. "You will act as the castle's guardian. News of its closure will no doubt attract my enemies' interest in it."   
  
"As you command, my Lord."  
  
"The half-breed, Hagrid, is he still on the grounds?"  
  
"Unfortunately, my Lord," Snape said. "He refuses to leave."  
  
"No matter," Voldemort said, waving a hand to dismiss it. "He is not a threat…yet."  
  
A hesitant knock came to the parlor door, drawing their attention.  
  
"M-my Lord?" Wormtail said, poking his head in the door. "I-I have the information you wanted…?"  
  
Snape sneered slightly in the quivering man's direction and turned to bow low to the Dark Lord. "I should return to my post," he said evenly. "You've but to call for me, my Lord."  
  
"I know," Voldemort said.   
  
Wraith stood as well, hands clasped in front of her. "I'll walk him out, my Lord."  
  
Voldemort smiled slightly and nodded to her.  
  
Snape waited for her at the doorway and the two walked out the front doors and down the dark path towards the gate with the same silence with which they had entered. At the gate, they both paused.  
  
Snape bowed his head to her and on an impulse, offer his hand. He was unsurprised when Wraith hesitated and quickly dropped it.   
  
"I've wanted to meet you for a while now," Wraith said, covering the motion.  
  
Snape raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"  
  
"It's nice to meet someone who isn't afraid of me."  
  
There was a soft edge to her voice and it caught Snape's attention.  
  
"I trust we'll see more of each other in the future," he offered.  
  
She smiled, but it was small and hardly there at all. It was almost as though she were disappointed by something.  
  
"Safe travels, Severus Snape."  
  
She bowed her head once more and then turned on her heel, walking back up the path. Snape's eyes narrowed as he watched her go.   
  
  
  
  
Upon his return to Hogwarts, Snape immediately made his way to the Headmaster's office. Out of sheer habit, he collapsed into the chair in front of the desk, rather than the one behind it. He slouched, a hand over his eyes as he sighed.  
  
The portrait that hung on the wall right behind the desk raised a silvery eyebrow. "So, how did it go?"  
  
"Rather on par as far as previous meetings have gone," Snape replied. "As we suspected, the Dark Lord wishes me to stand guard here. I suppose it's his way of rewarding me--giving me a simple task and letting me do it on my own. If I had to deal with one more day with the Carrows, Dumbledore, I don't think I could be held accountable for my actions regarding them."  
  
"Anything new?"  
  
"No," Snape said and then he immediately shook his head. "Yes, actually…I met the Wraith."  
  
Dumbledore's eyes went sharp. "And your impressions of her?"  
  
"She's a  _child_ ," Snape hissed in disgust. "Barely of age at all. She spoke not a word during the meeting, but she did walk me out after the meeting was over."  
  
"She had something to say?" Dumbledore surmised.  
  
"She said that she had been waiting to meet me," Snape told him, "and that she was glad to meet someone who wasn't afraid of her." He let out a breath in a deep sigh. "If I didn't  _know_  that she was responsible for five deaths, I'd have never thought it."  
  
He stood and began to pace. "There is something else…something odd about her. I couldn't read her at all. I didn't even sense that she was using Occlumency--it was as though she wasn't there at all."  
  
"Do you think there is truth to the rumors?"  
  
"Which ones? The one that claims she's Death itself? That I highly doubt. But she's something more than a witch, that's for certain. And as to some of the others rumors…" He paused, thinking back to the meeting and the short time after. "She is bound very tightly to the Dark Lord."  
  
"Magic in nature?"  
  
"Yes. There's some kind of deep tie between them, but it's deep enough that I cannot precisely discern its meaning." His face twisted in distaste. "The Dark Lord displays a fondness for her that I have only ever seen him show to one other creature."  
  
"Nagini."  
  
"Yes," Snape said, nodding. "The rumors of the dagger were true; she wore one at her waist and I saw Bellatrix staring at it more than once."  
  
"So Bellatrix  _did_  attack the girl?"  
  
"It would seem so," Snape said. "More likely she did it out of jealousy than fear, though. From all reports, the Wraith's only targets are those who have betrayed the Dark Lord."  
  
He sighed again as he sat uncomfortably behind the desk.   
  
"Whatever else the girl is…she's dangerous. I will have to watch my step with her."


	16. Messenger

_"When you have to kill a man, it costs nothing to be polite."_  
  
  
  
  
Within the Ministry of Magic, things were as busy as ever, even in the hours before dawn. But the last year had seen changes that most considered incomprehensible. Such drastic changes of policy such as the Muggle-born Registration Act caused everyone to watch their steps within the underground walls. The towering new statue that had replaced the Fountain of Magical Brethren gave the Ministry employees an air of foreboding, as did the increased number of dementors gliding about while they worked.  
  
One relatively new Ministry employee entered through the emerald green flames of one of the wall of fireplaces and strode with confidence through the atrium. Unlike many of the others, the new statue gives him an air of righteousness. He smiled and nodded to the few he considered contemporaries as he made his way up to his new office.  
  
But when he unlocked the door and entered his office-there was someone already within.  
  
She was seated behind his desk, one finger tapping a rhythm upon the hard surface. "You are very nearly late, Rabastan Lestrange."  
  
Rabastan froze and then one hand automatically went for his wand. Wraith's strange eyes followed the motion.  
  
"You know better," she murmured gently. "You are welcome to try anyhow, if you feel you must, but you  _do_  know better."  
  
"Why are you here?" he demanded. "If this has something to do with my brother's wife-"  
  
"Oh, do be quiet, Rabastan," Wraith said softly. "Why am I anywhere? He  _sent_  me, of course."  
  
"The Dark Lord?"  
  
"No other commands me," she reminded him. She smiled just slightly and tilted her head. "And I hold  _Bellatrix_  responsible for her actions. No one else. I don't believe in guilt by association."  
  
Rabastan visibly relaxed. "But why has the Dark Lord sent you?"  
  
Wraith closed her eyes and sat back in his chair. "He wanted me to ask you: Have you been enjoying your new job here at the Ministry?"  
  
Rabastan nodded hesitantly. "Of course, I-"  
  
"Our Lord is curious as to why he has not received a report on your progress."  
  
Rabastan paled and mumbled something of no consequence. Wraith sighed lightly and stood, coming around the desk. Rabastan flinched, stepping back quickly, his back pressed against the door. Something flashed in Wraith's eyes, but too quickly for Rabastan to see.  
  
"The Dark Lord sent me to remind you that though you are loyal, you cannot afford to be complacent. He expects you at the Manor tomorrow night. I recommend that you have something to give him."   
  
Rabastan swallowed and the nodded. Again, Wraith smiled slightly and then dipped her head in a gesture of farewell. Before Rabastan could blink, she was gone.     
  
  
  
  
Back at the Manor, Voldemort rested in his chair, eyes closed, breathing in the light scent in the air of her room. Some mixture of rain and rose that lingers around him. Her scent, he imagined, and strange how he never noticed it when she was present, only when she was not there.   
  
"My Lord?"  
  
His eyes opened. "Wraith," he said, seeing her standing behind the couch. "Your report?"  
  
She came around the couch to stand before him, hands clasped behind her back. "He  _is_  very loyal, Rabastan. When I'd finally convinced him that I was not there because of his sister-in-law, he quite noticeably calmed."  
  
"I was never in doubt of his loyalty," Voldemort told her, looking to the fire, "only of his usefulness."  
  
The corner of her mouth quirked into a smile. "I can only hope that you will always find use for me, my Lord."  
  
"I doubt there will ever come a day that I do not, my Wraith. Continue."  
  
"I delivered your message, as you ordered, my Lord. You may have to call upon him yourself," she said. "He may not have taken me completely at my word."  
  
"Oh, I believe he did. He is not so foolish as to disregard a messenger of mine."  
  
"I think I rather like being your messenger," Wraith said, relaxing her pose. "It was almost  _fun_."  
  
Voldemort gestured for her to sit and she did so, as usual, as his feet.  
  
"And you've been quite successful, my Lord," she continued. "They are all terrified of me."  
  
"Of course they are, my Wraith," he said, running a hand over her pale cheek. "How could they not be?"  
  
She raised an eyebrow, and a hint of humor glinted in her eye. "Are you flattering me, my Lord, or your own handiwork?"  
  
"It rather amounts to the same thing, doesn't it?"  
  
"It does," she agreed.  
  
The humor, he mused, stroking her hair, that dark humor he first saw in her cell at Azkaban.  _"If you are not he, then who would you be?"_  He smiled just slightly and she noticed it.  
  
"My Lord?"  
  
"Go and fetch the house-elf," he commanded her. "Tell him I desire a glass of wine."  
  
"Yes, my Lord," she said, standing and bowing before she left.  
  
 _There_ , he thought after a few moments,  _there is that scent again_. It suited her, he imagined. Rain and rose both. Almost cold, that scent, but then she was always cold herself. And the roses- _did she see them in her dreams? When she looks upon them in the garden, do they stir something inside her?_    
  
He pulled himself out of his contemplation when she reentered the room, a goblet in her hand. She offered it to him and he took it, studying the dark liquid within.   
  
"Elf-made wine," he murmured. "Of course, Lucius would have this in his pantry." He sipped, half retreating into his thoughts once more. "Have you ever partaken of elf-made wine, my Wraith?"  
  
"No, my Lord," she said as she sat once more. "I've had no desire to." She smirked, "A life in Azkaban has formed me into a creature of simple tastes."  
  
He offered the goblet. "A sip," he told her.  
  
Wraith carefully took the goblet and put it to her lips. After a small taste, she handed back the goblet. "I'd offer an opinion, but since I've never had wine before…"  
  
"I'd take it you'd prefer a cup of tea instead?"  
  
She shrugged. "I'd take the tea over the wine, I suppose, but I wouldn't turn down the wine if offered, my Lord."   
  
"You are an agreeable creature, aren't you?"  
  
"Only so much with you, my Lord."  
  
"As it should be," he said.  
  
They both looked up at the soft knock on the door. Voldemort sat back in his chair, taking another sip of the wine. "Enter."  
  
Snape opened the door and paused to bow, taking the moment to study the scene before him. The Dark Lord seated comfortably before the fire and Wraith at his feet.   
  
Wraith lifted her eyes to his briefly and there was something of a challenge in them.  
  
"Ah, Severus," Voldemort said. "You are early."  
  
"My apologies, my Lord."  
  
"Unnecessary," the Dark Lord replied.  
  
"Should I leave, my Lord?" Wraith asked.  
  
"Also unnecessary, though you may, if you wish to."  
  
"I think I do wish to," she said, getting to her feet. "It's close enough to dawn; I might go back to bed."  
  
"You say that as if you've been to bed at all."  
  
"It's true that I haven't yet," she said. "All the more reason to do so now."  
  
She dipped low, her dark skirts a fan around her feet. "My Lord." She glanced at Snape and again there was a challenge there. She nodded to him respectfully despite it. "Severus."  
  
She started to turned, but paused when the Dark Lord lifted his hand to beckon her back. He offered the goblet once more. Wraith took it, without taking her eyes from his, and took one last sip. A small, but satisfied smile came to the Dark Lord's face as she gave the wine back. It was echoed on her face before she disappeared into her bedroom.  
  
Snape felt chilled at the odd intimacy between them, but cleared whatever dark thoughts he may have had from his mind as the Dark Lord turned his attention to him.   
  
"I've found something of a paper trail, my Lord," Snape said. "I believe it leads to one of Davies's suppliers."  
  
"Hm, well done," Voldemort said. "Between you and Wormtail, we may have found the lot. Who have you discovered?"  
  
"A wizard by the name of Augustus Linsolm."  
  
"The name is familiar," the Dark Lord mused, drinking of the wine again.   
  
"He's owns a  _nightclub_  in London." The word seemed distasteful to Snape. "A very popular establishment for some of my fellows; your followers, my Lord."  
  
"And why would he be foolish enough to cross me?"  
  
"Linsolm is the kind of fool that will do anything for a profit, my Lord."  
  
"I see." Voldemort drained the goblet and Snape noticed that his eyes drifted towards Wraith's door. "Be sure of what you have found, Severus. Then we shall pay Augustus Linsolm a personal visit."   
  
"Shall I return to Hogwarts then, my Lord?"  
  
Voldemort nodded. "Yes, for the time being. I shall call upon you when I find the need."


	17. Questionable Virtue

_How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is  
To have a thankless child!_  
  
  
  
  
Nearly a week passed before Snape was able to confirm for the Dark Lord what he had found. But it was a well known fact to the many of the Death Eaters who knew him, that Linsolm went nowhere alone.   
  
So the Dark Lord decided to hit him where it would hurt the most--his profit. He decided he would take a small group of his loyal Death Eaters, including his Wraith, to Linsolm's precious nightclub,  _Questionable Virtue_.  
  
  
  
  
It was just past midnight when the Death Eaters assembled once more at the Malfoys' home. In the parlor, Voldemort waited with Wraith at his side. Those that arrived noted first that she was not wearing her usual guise as Lady Death, and is instead wearing all black instead. She did, however, carry her mask.   
  
When Gavin appeared among the Death Eaters, Wraith's eyes narrowed and she let out a sharp hiss of breath. Voldemort placed a firm hand on her shoulder and bent closer to her.  
  
"I need him tonight, my Wraith," he murmured to her. "He will not bother you."  
  
"May I ask why you need him?"  
  
"He knows the building inside and out."  
  
"He would," Wraith muttered scathingly. She fell silent, but briefly rested her cheek against the hand on her shoulder. Voldemort took this as her acceptance and stepped forward to give his orders to the others.  
  
"Three of you will go in before us, without your masks," he instructed. "I want you on alert, in case Linsolm chooses to do something…stupid. The rest will enter with me. According to Gavin, Linsolm will most likely be in his office, watching the crowd from above. We will corner him there and see what he has to say for himself."   
  
  
  
  
The nightclub,  _Questionable Virtue_ , seemed to have the same charm upon it that the  _Leaky Cauldron_  did, for the Muggles that passed it didn't seem to notice the bright lights that poured out, or the pounding of the music within. The Dark Lord waited across the street with his followers behind him, watching as the first three entered alone. After a few minutes, Voldemort signaled and they walked across the now deserted street to the club's entrance.  
  
As they swept inside, their entrance is covered by the strength of the music and the hollers of the men within. Voldemort and those behind them keep the hoods of their cloaks up, keeping their faces from sight.   
  
As another cheer rose from the rather drunken crowd, Wraith glanced at the stage and then quickly averted her eyes, blushing slightly. She heard Gavin chuckle behind her and zapped him with a small jolt of power. He hissed in pain, but wisely said nothing.  
  
As they walked towards the door that led up to the office, several of the 'customers' began to realize just who had entered the club. Like Gavin, they decided it was wiser to remain silent and ignore the happenings about to occur.  
  
To the group's collective surprise, a young and very nervous looking woman stopped in front of them. Her blonde hair was long, but chopped and styled strangely, her bangs half covering her eyes. She was dressed in little more than lace and fishnet, her face made up for the stage. She was only able to look up briefly, before her fear forced her to look at the floor.   
  
"Boss says that he knows w-why you're h-here. H-he wants to talk to you." She lifted her eyes again. "A-alone."  
  
"That will not happen," Voldemort said, ready to walk around her.  
  
"He said that i-if you said that, then h-he'll meet you w-without a fight…if you leave  _her_  behind." The girl lifted a shaking hand to point at Wraith.  
  
Voldemort went silent and he glanced back at Wraith, who looked back at him, rather unsurprised. The Dark Lord made a low sound akin to a growl and turned back to the girl, who was shaking horrible before him.   
  
"My Lord," Wraith murmured, stepping forward. "I could wait out here." When Voldemort looked at her again, she smirked. "It's not as though I could not be by your side in an instant." She held up her arm to show the Dark Mark there.  
  
"Very well," Voldemort said after a moment. "Rabastan, Avery, remain out here with Wraith. I will call upon you if I find the need."  
  
The two men nodded and stepped away from the group, along with Wraith.  
  
"Stay out of trouble," Voldemort murmured t her.  
  
"As you like, my Lord," she replied evenly.   
  
Gavin moved forward and took the still trembling girl by her elbow. "What is your name, sweetheart?"  
  
"C-Cynthia," she said, her voice shaking.  
  
"Don't worry," Gavin told her, "you've done a good job in delivering your message. Go on now and go back to work. We know the way to Linsolm's office."  
  
The girl, Cynthia, looked very relieved and was glad to hurry away.   
  
"Poor little thing," Gavin murmured, smiling darkly. "I wouldn't mind meeting her in a dark room sometime."  
  
"Lead the way, Gavin," Voldemort ordered sharply.  
  
Wraith watched them go and then glanced between Rabastan and Avery. She shrugged, clearing at a loss as to what to do in the meantime. Rabastan looked towards the stage as the music switched to a new song and gestured towards the crowd. The three stepped over to the audience and found an empty table in the back. Still a little embarrassed, Wraith turned her eyes up to the show.   
  
The stage was dominated by three scantily clad women, each very different from the other. Wraith recognized the girl that had stopped them, Cynthia, dancing in circles on the left hand side of the stage. She moved in careful coordinated steps that made her thin body twist like a snake. On the right was a woman with dark hair done in braids and an outfit that seemed to consist of leather straps. She was more aggressive in her dance and the men seemed to enjoy it.   
  
But the one in the middle made Wraith pause. She was tall and tan, with short chestnut hair falling over one side of her pretty face. Unlike the other two, she was smiling as she twirled and contorted to the thrum of the music. Her smile was wide and infectious, as if she were having the time of her life.  
  
Wraith turned to Rabastan, asking, "Who is the woman in the middle?"  
  
Rabastan smirked and shook his head. "That's Linsolm's pet scandal, Clara Bauman. Her mother is Clarice Flint, a member of a proper pureblood family. Her daughter is the result of a-- _ahem_ \--very short term marriage to a Muggle-born. Clara there seems to take delight in horrifying her mother. Almost as soon as she left school, Clara came here and started dancing. She's, ah, very  _popular_  here."  
  
The song came to an end and the girls took their bows to hoots and hollers and cries for more. Wraith seemed to catch Clara's eye and made a small, almost unnoticeable gesture.  
  
Avery cleared his throat and asked Wraith if he could move to a closer table. Wraith nodded, not really caring one way or the other. He and Rabastan moved deeper into the crowd, leaving Wraith alone.  
  
"Having fun?"  
  
Wraith sneered, not bothering to look up. "Shouldn't you be with our Lord, Gavin?"  
  
Gavin gave her a sneer of his own as he sat at the table with her. "I just wanted to check on you. Where are the others?"  
  
"Enjoying the show," Wraith replied dryly. "Why don't you go and do the same?"  
  
"Yes, why don't you?"  
  
Gavin and Wraith looked up to see the young woman from the stage. She put a hand on her hip and jerked her thumb towards the crowd. "Beat it, creep," she said, her voice like honey. "The lady obviously doesn't care for your company."  
  
Gavin stood, his wand in his hand.  
  
"Gavin," Wraith snapped. "Leave. Now."  
  
Gavin looked back at her. "I don't think our master would care for the company you're choosing,  _my lady_."  
  
"He'll forgive me," Wraith hissed back. She looked up and met Clara's eyes, smiling slightly.  
  
Gavin hesitated and then turned on his heel, disappearing into the crow. Clara watched him go, raising a delicate eyebrow.   
  
"Mind if I sit?" she asked, tilting her head.  
  
"Please."  
  
Clara grabbed Gavin's empty chair and swung it around, straddling it. "You're far from the Q.V.'s usual 'clientele', pretty thing. What brings you here?"  
  
Wraith glanced up towards the office. "Business."  
  
Clara gave her a look. "You came in with that bunch of Death Eaters, didn't you? Bad company, them, but they pay well."  
  
Wraith considered her, and Clara let her do so in silence. She seemed to enjoy the attention.  
  
"Why do you do it?" Wraith asked at last, gesturing to the stage.  
  
Clara grinned and held up two fingers. "Two reasons," she said. "One, it is  _fun_. I enjoy dancing. I like men panting after me like puppies, knowing that they'll never have me. Two, and this is really the more important part, it pisses my mum off."  
  
"Why is that important?" Wraith asked softly.  
  
Clara shrugged. "She made my life a living hell. I'm just returning the favor. You know how parents can be."  
  
"I'm afraid I don't."  
  
Clara looked stricken and then she sighed, shaking off the unpleasant topic. "Can I get you a drink?" she asked.  
  
"No, but thank you."  
  
"Do you mind if I have one?"  
  
"Of course not," Wraith said. "I'm not keeping you from your work, am I?"  
  
"Nah," Clara said. "I can afford a break. Besides, who'd turn down a conversation with a pretty thing like you?"  
  
"You'd be surprised," Wraith said dryly.  
  
Clara frowned momentarily and signaled a waiter. "Sherry and ice for me, love. Are you sure you wouldn't like something?" she asked Wraith again.  
  
Wraith shook her head, but smiled nonetheless.   
  
"So why'd you signal me?" Clara asked after her drink had arrived. "Not that I'm complaining, mind you, but you don't strike me as someone looking for a quick tumble."  
  
Wraith blushed slightly and shook her head. "Ah, no, I just wanted someone to talk to, I guess."  
  
Clara sipped her drink, frowning slightly. "You're not in trouble, are you?" She set her glass down and reached for Wraith's hand. Wraith pulled her hand back quickly before Clara could touch it.   
  
"Hardly," Wraith replied, covering her rude motion. "I can take care of myself."  
  
Clara smiled to show she wasn't insulted by Wraith's action. "Yeah, you're a tough one, all right. What's your name, sweetie?"  
  
"I don't want to tell you," Wraith said slowly, smiling rather sadly. "You'd stop talking with me."  
  
Clara's brow shot up. "Oh, come on, sweetie. You can't be that scary."  
  
"You'd be surprised," Wraith said again.   
  
Clara studied her, a clever smile on her face. She chewed on her lower lip for a moment before she spoke again. "Can you leave without your, uh, 'friends'? Do you wanna get out of here?"   
  
Wraith started to reply, but she stopped suddenly at the expression on Clara's face. She sighed softly and stood. "My Lord," she said, turning and bowing her head.  
  
"Interesting company you keep, my Wraith," Voldemort said lightly, though his eyes flashed with ire.  
  
"Just passing the time, my Lord. I apologize."  
  
"Time to leave, my pet," Voldemort told her, sweeping past.  
  
"Yes, my Lord."  
  
Wraith couldn't bring herself to look at Clara again as she passed. But when Clara reached out suddenly to take her hand, Wraith paused, looking back. Clara's eyes were wide, but the fear didn't seem to be directed towards her.  
  
"Will I see you again?" Clara asked under her breath.  
  
Wraith hesitated. "I hope not," she whispered, glancing significantly towards the office and then at the Dark Lord's back. "I really hope not."  
  
Clara's eyes widened further in understanding and she nodded quickly. She brought Wraith's hand to her lips before she let go. "Nice talking to you," she said with a wink.  
  
Wraith was caught off guard, but something in her softened and she smiled quickly before she turned to catch up with the others.   
  
"Clara!" A voice hissed at her. "Clara, you're on in five! Get your ass up there!"  
  
"I'm coming, I'm coming," Clara snapped. She stood, eyes still watching Wraith as she left.


	18. Impressions

_"There are no facts, only interpretations."_  
  
  
  
  
The Dark Lord and his Wraith returned to the Manor in silence, not speaking until they reached her rooms.  
  
With a heavy sigh, Wraith removed her cloak and tossed it over the back of the couch. She turned to Voldemort, who remained standing at the threshold. Wraith was disconcerted by the ire still in his eyes. She straightened and crossed her arms.   
  
"So…why is Linsolm still alive?"  
  
"He claims to have valuable information. If, however, the information proves useless, he will die."  
  
"I'd wondered," Wraith said, resting against the couch. "When he sent that girl to intercept you…" She paused, not liking the fact that Voldemort had not moved. "My Lord…" she began cautiously, "…you are angry with me. How can I fix that?"  
  
Voldemort's eyes narrowed and, at last, he entered the room, slamming the door shut behind him. Wraith flinches and waited until he had passed her to sit in his chair. Then she turned to him once more.   
  
"My Lord?"  
  
"Come here."  
  
Wraith quickly went around the couch to settle at his feet. She looked up to him, silent and wary of his anger. The Dark Lord leaned forward and touched her hair, then dropped his hand to her shoulder.   
  
"I do not care for the company you chose, my Wraith."  
  
Wraith thought of her careless dismissal of Gavin's warning…and regretted it. "We were only talking, my Lord."  
  
"I want you to be more selective of your friends in the future."  
  
"Friends," Wraith muttered, "what are those?"  
  
Voldemort snatched up a lock of her hair and pulled hard. Wraith cried out at the sharp pain, but did not fight his hold.   
  
"There are times when I enjoy that sharp tongue of yours, my pet, but now is  _not_  one of those times."  
  
"I'm sorry," Wraith breathed, her eyes watering from the pain. "I'm sorry. Please!"  
  
Voldemort released her. She fell back, quickly wiping at her eyes.   
  
"I'm sorry," she whispered again.  
  
Voldemort sat back and simply looked at her. Wraith moved closer to him once more, cautiously touching a hand to the armrest, inches away from his own. Voldemort reached over to gently stroke her hair. Wraith closed her eyes in relief.   
  
"She  _propositioned_  you."   
  
Wraith's eyes snapped opened and she blushed lightly. "Ah, yes…yes, she did."  
  
"Would you have accepted?"  
  
Wraith shook her head, her blush deepening. "No, my Lord. I-I enjoyed talking to her-I liked her, but not-not like  _that_." It hadn't even occurred to her, that sort of possibility. She blushed again, as it finally did. She touched a hand to her burning cheek. "Good gods," she murmured, more embarrassed than she could say.  
  
Voldemort grabbed hold of her wrist, squeezing tight. "Good. I'm glad to hear you say that. I have plans for your future, my Wraith, that don't include company such as hers." He released her and stood, walking over to one of the windows.  
  
Wraith rubbed her wrist, her eyes following him. "Plans, my Lord?" she asked as she too stood and joined him at the window. "What sort of plans?"   
  
"Plans that involve a marriage into a proper family," Voldemort told her, "and children to carry your bloodline."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"Your blood is the purest this world has seen for a thousand years," Voldemort said. "I am not keen to waste it." He smirked at the almost panicked look in her eyes. "Not to worry, my pet," he said, touching her cheek. "It will not be for some time. You are far too useful where you are now."   
  
Wraith closed her eyes and leaned against the window, greatly relieved. Voldemort looked at her, his hand tracing down the line of her neck. He slowly slid his hand down to trace along her collarbone, her skin cool to the touch. Wraith's eyes opened, but she kept them on the window and said nothing.   
  
"Your skin is almost as pale as mine," Voldemort commented idly.   
  
"Well, that happens when you spend your life out of the sun," Wraith murmured.  
  
"And there's that tongue again."  
  
Wraith dared a small smile. "Am I forgiven?"  
  
"You are."  
  
"Thank you, my Lord."  
  
He let her go. "Go to bed, my pet. We shall see about Linsolm tomorrow night."  
  
Wraith nodded, almost distractedly. Voldemort left her standing by the window. Wraith blinked as if she had suddenly found herself alone. She held up the hand that Clara had kissed. It was the same she used to stop the hearts of her victims.  
  
"Friends?" she whispered. "Death can't have friends. I'm too dangerous."  
  
  
  
  
McGonagall entered the ramshackle room she used as a makeshift office and started as a candle lit itself upon her desk. She drew her wand and pointed it at the intruder. But when the light illuminated said intruder's face, McGonagall frowned disapprovingly.   
  
"Miss Bauman," she said. "Shouldn't you be at work?"  
  
Clara grinned ear to ear. "Aw, aren't you happy to see me, Professor?"  
  
When McGonagall gave her a stern look, Clara shrugged.  
  
"Okay, I  _would_  be at work, but I received a tip that it's a powder keg."  
  
"What happened?"  
  
"Well, you know Linsolm. The man's an idiot, a do-anything-for-a-Knut kinda guy. I think he's finally gotten in over his greasy little head. You-Know-Who must have found out that Linsolm was one of Davies's suppliers, cause tall dark and gruesome paid the club a visit last night."  
  
McGonagall winced at the offhand slur, but said nothing to it. "But Linsolm is alive?"  
  
"For the moment, but I don't think that will last."  
  
"You said that you received a tip. From whom?"  
  
"You are not going to believe this-from the Wraith herself."  
  
" _What_?"  
  
Clara smiled innocently. "Didn't know who she was at first. I went over to talk with her since, hey, she was cute." Her expression softened. "She's younger than you all assumed. I doubt she's older than me. In fact, I'd lay money that she's a little younger. And there was something…something almost, well,  _sad_  about her, something lonely." She smirked, but her eyes were still soft. "She was almost sweet."  
  
"She's responsible for four deaths-that we  _know_  of," McGonagall reminded her sternly. "What exactly did she warn you about? And why?"  
  
"Second is easiest," Clara said. "She liked me a little. I sat and chatted with her, and I got the feeling that she doesn't have a whole lot of people to just  _talk_  to, you know? As to the first, and this is just my poor educated guess, You-Know-Who has a habit of hitting hard. If he's looking to teach Linsolm a lesson-he'll hit the Q.V."  
  
McGonagall sighed, biting back a curse. "That was a good post. I doubt there's another place where the Death Eaters let down their guard so much."  
  
"It's a pity," Clara agreed. "I  _liked_  working there."  
  
"We'll find another place for you," McGonagall assured her.   
  
"Hey, Professor?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"The Wraith-she's a  _tiny_  little thing. I'd have never guessed who she was on my own."  
  
" _And_?"  
  
"Maybe we could convince her to come to  _our_  side?"  
  
"Clara," McGonagall sighed. "We've thought that of others in the past. It never ends well."  
  
"Yeah, I know," Clara said with a pout. "Pity though. She really  _was_  pretty."  
  
  
  
  
News came through later in the night.  _Questionable Virtue_  had burned to the ground. Linsolm and several dancers had perished in the blaze. When Linsolm's body was discovered, though, it was completely untouched by the fire. His heart had been stopped.  
  
In the garden outside the Malfoys' Manor, Wraith stood, staring into the darkness. She clenched her hand into a fist and whispered to no one…   
  
" _Six_."


	19. Appearances

_Appearances often are deceiving._  
  
  
  
  
Sitting in his parlor, Lucius Malfoy seemed to be intently studying the wall across from him, almost as if the wallpaper held some secret he was deciphering. It wasn't until his wife entered the room, looking drawn, that he seemed to snap out of it.   
  
"Narcissa?" he said, standing. "What is it?"  
  
"People at the gates," she said quickly. "I think it's Fenrir and his Snatchers."  
  
Lucius frowned. "Snatchers? What use are they now that Hogwarts has closed?"  
  
"I don't know," Narcissa said, "but they seem to have a captive."  
  
They waited together in the parlor as the front doors opened to allow Fenrir and those with him inside. Fenrir Greyback flashed a grimy smile at the Malfoys as he entered the room, and two shorter wizards dragged a semi-conscious young man into the room, his arms bound behind his back and a rag stuffed into his mouth.   
  
"Is this who I think it is?" Lucius asked, stepping closer.  
  
"The Longbottom boy," Fenrir said, "caught him outside the  _Leaky Cauldron_."   
  
"He's been quite the troublemaker," Lucius said, rubbing his chin as he thought. "In  _and_  out of Hogwarts. Hm…" He smiled and snapped his fingers at the two wizards holding the boy up. "Take him down to the cellar. There are chains on the far wall from when the Wandmaker was held there. Make sure he stays put."     
  
Fenrir took a step forward, pointing a clawed finger at Lucius. "If you think yer taking the credit for this, Malfoy…"  
  
"The Dark Lord is expected tonight," Lucius snapped impatiently. "He's here almost every night to see his Wraith. So be patient, Fenrir."  
  
The werewolf scowled, but turned and nodded to the Snatchers. Together, they disappeared into the hall.  
  
Neville groaned as they dragged him across the gleaming marble floor towards the cellar door. He lifted his head briefly and caught sight of the young woman standing on the stairwell as he was pulled past it.   
  
Wraith frowned, watching the strangers drag the beaten boy out of sight. She hurried down the steps and into the parlor, where Lucius and Narcissa were speaking in hushed, but delighted tones to each other. They fell silent the moment that she entered.  
  
Wraith felt their fear like a cold wind, but she attempted a smile despite it. "Good news?" she asked lightly. When they hesitated to answer, Wraith blinked. "I saw the captive. Is he important?"  
  
"Yes," Lucius said at last.  
  
"Then I'm sure the Dark Lord will be pleased with you," she said simply. She glanced at the window and the darkening sky beyond. "He'll be here shortly," she announced. Wraith turned and started for the door, but paused as Fenrir and his group returned.  
  
Fenrir grinned at the sight of her, old blood still staining his sharp teeth. "Well, well," he said, circling around her. Wraith was silent, her face expressionless, but Narcissa suspected that the glint in her eye was humor. "Aren't you a tasty little thing?"  
  
"Greyback--" Lucius started warningly.  
  
"This a schoolmate of yer boy?" Fenrir asked, ignoring the warning. "Kid's got good taste. Think he'd share with his old pal Fenrir?"  
  
"Careful," Wraith said gently when she felt he had gotten close enough.  
  
"Of what?" Fenrir smirked.   
  
Wraith smiled back and everyone else in the room backed up a step.   
  
"Things are often more than they appear," she told him, her voice low. She noted his sharp teeth and the way that he curled his hands into claws. "…A werewolf ought to know better," she admonished.  
  
Fenrir lost his smirk and suddenly reached for her. She stepped back, in the same movement lifted her hand towards him. The werewolf let out an abrupt howl of pain, clutching the hand that had reached for her.  
  
There was a deep slash across his filthy palm, making it impossible for him to close his hand. He howled again and growled at Wraith, who continued to smile despite the threat.  
  
"Care to try again? You've still got one hand."  
  
Fenrir growled once more, but he backed away from her, still clutching his wounded hand.   
  
"You must be Fenrir Greyback," Wraith said slowly. "I've heard of you."  
  
"And who the hell are you?" he snarled.  
  
"My name is Wraith," she replied evenly and she smirked when the werewolf paled beneath the grime. "Ah, I see that you've heard of  _me_ too."  
  
She turned, heading for the door again. "Be more careful in the future, werewolf." She paused and looked back to Narcissa. "…Sorry about the blood on the carpet." And she was gone, shutting the doors sharply behind her.   
  
Lucius let out a breath and smacked Fenrir smartly on the back of the head. " _Idiot_ ," he hissed.   
  
Outside, Wraith hurried down the path and out past the gate. On the outside path, she met the Dark Lord, as she had expected to.   
  
"You look unusually pleased with yourself, my pet," Voldemort commented, offering his arm to her.   
  
She took it and walked alongside him. "I just met Greyback," she explained. "We had a very informative discussion concerning appearances and, ah, personal space."  
  
Voldemort smiled approvingly. "And did he  _survive_  this 'informative discussion' of yours?"  
  
"Of course," Wraith replied lightly. "There's no point in teaching lessons to dead dogs."  
  
"I take it that you don't care for him?"  
  
"Not particularly," Wraith said, though she smiled.   
  
As they entered the Manor, Wraith let go of his arm to walk a step behind him before they reached the parlor. Those still gathered inside quickly bowed to the Dark Lord before Lucius hurried to speak.  
  
"My Lord, we have the Longbottom boy--"  
  
" _I_  captured 'im!" Fenrir interjected angrily. He still held his bleeding hand, though now it was wrapped crudely with fabric torn from his already frayed shirt.   
  
Voldemort lifted a hand for silence. He turned his eyes to Lucius. "Longbottom? You have him below?"  
  
"Yes, my Lord," Lucius replied proudly.  
  
"Good. Perhaps he can serve as a gift for Bella," Voldemort said, settling into his usual chair, "Since she has behaved herself so well these past few weeks."  
  
Wraith smirked at that, but said nothing as she settled at his feet. Her smirk faltered briefly as she recalled the boy's face before he had been dragged out of sight.  
  
  
  
  
July had only just begun when Draco brought several of his friends home. His parents had the feeling that he wanted a hint of his old life and allowed houseroom to Crabbe, Goyle, Nott, and Zabini without argument. When they arrived, Draco took them immediately upstairs to his room, wanting to avoid any visiting Death Eaters…and Wraith as well.  
  
But just outside Draco's door, the last of group, Zabini paused, having caught sight of someone entering the library. A small smile came to his handsome face and he waved off from the others. "I'll be right back," he said.  
  
"Where are you going?" Draco demanded.  
  
"The loo, back off."   
  
But he too slipped into the library, craning around the shelves to find her. When he saw her again, she was searching the shelf in front of her with a purposeful air. She glanced at him once, acknowledging his presence, but said nothing and immediately turned back to the books.   
  
Zabini cleared his throat quietly and smiled just slightly. "Maybe I could help you find something? I've been 'round here a lot."  
  
"And I've lived here for seven months," Wraith replied dryly and she glanced at him again. "Thanks anyway."  
  
"Oh." Zabini was vaguely annoyed that she was being so dismissive of him. "Sorry, I hadn't realized."  
  
Wraith looked at him a little longer then. "You're a friend of Draco's, aren't you?"  
  
"Yeah," Zabini said, smiling again. He slipped around the other side of the shelf and peered through the books at her.   
  
"What's your name?" she asked him as she walked along the shelf.  
  
"Blaise," he replied, "Blaise Zabini."  
  
"Blaise, do you know who I am?"  
  
He blinked, thrown by the abrupt question. "I don't think so. Should I?" he asked, trying for charm again.  
  
They reached the end of the shelf and Wraith sighed, leaning against it. She crossed her arms as Blaise smiled down at her.   
  
"My name is Wraith," she told him.  
  
Zabini's eyes widened, but he recovered quickly. Wraith sensed an air of disbelief and contempt. She found it almost refreshing.   
  
" _You're_  the  _Wraith_?" he said suspiciously. "You expect me to believe that you're the Dark Lord's Executioner? The Lady Death?"  
  
"Alright," Wraith said, backing up a couple of steps. She spread her arms in an invitation. "You want proof? Try a spell, Zabini."  
  
"What?"  
  
She raised an eyebrow. "Try to cast a spell on me. Anything you can think of. Go on," she taunted, "Or are you afraid?"  
  
  Zabini colored and took his wand out. He hesitated a moment more, but her mocking expression goaded him into it. " _Stupefy_!"   
  
There was a quick flash of red light and Zabini smirked. But when the light faded, his jaw dropped.   
  
"Want to try another?" Wraith asked him, smiling blandly. When Zabini mutely shook his head, her smile melted like ice from her face. "Believe me now?" She snatched up a book at random and started for the door.   
  
Zabini stumbled after her. "Wait!"  
  
She stopped, surprised.  
  
"I'm sorry," he said. "I should have believed you."  
  
"You aren't the first to make that mistake," she told him. She frowned, tilting her head to the side. "What do you want?" she asked curiously.  
  
Zabini coughed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Do you ever, you know, go out?"  
  
"What? Leave the Manor?" she scoffed. "Often enough."  
  
"No, I mean…not to, uh, work, just to go out?"  
  
"Not really," she replied slowly, still trying to work out his meaning. "Zabini, you're going to have to be a little more straightforward here."  
  
"I was…wondering if I could take you out for an evening," Zabini told her.   
  
"Oh." Wraith blinked as she realized what he was saying. "I--I'll have to get back to you on that."  
  
"'Get back to me'? What do you mean?"  
  
She shrugged. "I mean… that I think I'll need the Dark Lord's approval. I'd have to ask  _him_  first."   
  
Zabini smiled again and took a small step towards her. "And if he does approve?" he asked slowly.  
  
"…We'll see," she replied evasively. She tilted her head again, studying him, and not really trusting his smooth smile. "Like I said--I'll get back to you."   
  
With the final word, she turned on her heel and left him in the library alone.


	20. 'You Don't See'

_Nobody realizes that some people expend tremendous energy merely to be normal._  
  
  
  
  
Zabini returned to Draco's room with a rather satisfied smirk on his face. Nott was the first to notice it and quickly asked what the taller boy was so pleased about. Zabini's smirk widened and he looked to Draco. "Why did you ever tell us who you've had under your roof,  _friend_?"  
  
Draco's eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about?"  
  
"The  _Wraith_ , you dolt," Zabini said. "The Wraith is living  _here_  with you and your parents!"  
  
Draco paled, but Zabini continued without noticing it.  
  
"She's not bad looking," he said, sitting back with his hands behind his head. "A prettier sight than I imagined. And  _our_  age at that!" His eyes narrowed with dark mirth. "And to think,  _you_  haven't made a move."  
  
"Of course I haven't!" Draco snapped. He stood and began to pace. "Zabini, what the hell did you do?"  
  
"Relax, I only asked her out."  
  
"You…asked the  _Wraith_  out? On a date? Are you  _mental_?"  
  
"Funny, I'd ask the same thing of you," Zabini retorted, leaning forward. "Why the hell  _haven't_  you made a move on her? Throw a little charm her way and you could have brought your family back to power! Your loss, my friend," Zabini said, sitting back again, "is my gain."  
  
Draco was silent. The other boys held their breaths, waiting on pins and needles.  
  
"You don't see," Draco said slowly. "You don't know. You just spent five minutes with her." He paused, breathing deeply. "What did she say? When you 'asked her out'? You can't expect me to believe that she said yes."  
  
"She might as well have," Zabini snapped.   
  
"What. Did. She. Say?"  
  
Zabini shifted, suddenly uncomfortable. "That she'd need the Dark Lord's approval first."  
  
"And you think that he'd give it?"  
  
"Why wouldn't he?" Zabini demanded haughtily. "My blood is pure, my family's loyal, and I've got nowhere to go but up. Why wouldn't be approve of me for his Wraith?"  
  
"You've just said it," Draco said darkly. " _His_  Wraith. Like I said, Zabini,  _you don't see_."  
  
Nott spoke up. "Are you saying the rumors are true?"  
  
"I don't know for sure," Draco replied. "But the Dark Lord is here almost every night to see her. And the moment he walks through the door, she's his shadow." He looked back to Zabini. "You haven't seen the way she sits at his feet like a…a trained tiger on a chain."  
  
"A tiger?" Zabini laughed mockingly. "Bit overdramatic, don't you think, mate?"  
  
"You haven't seen what she can do."  
  
"Sure I have," Zabini said. "She let me try a spell on her."  
  
Draco shook his head, now smiling. "That's just a part of it," he said.  
  
"Look, all I'm hearing from you is sour grapes," Zabini said, getting to his feet. "Like I said; your loss, Malfoy. I've grabbed the chance that you didn't. Deal with it."  
  
"You say that like there ever was a chance."  
  
  
  
  
By the time that night had fallen, the boys were in their separate rooms and Wraith was pacing the floor of her own. When her door opened and Voldemort stepped in, she smiled, but he noticed that it was very distracted.  
  
"What has you pacing so, my pet?"  
  
Wraith forced herself to stop and crossed her arms tightly across her chest. "…Blaise Zabini."  
  
Voldemort's eyes narrowed and he passed her to sit in his chair. "A good family," he said at last. "Not within the inner circle, but…what about him?"  
  
Wraith hesitated, unsure of how to put it. In her mind, it sounded so foolish, so stupid. "He's…attempting to 'court' me, as it were." Her eyes were sharp as she said it.  
  
"You sound rather accusative, my Wraith."  
  
"Maybe I am," she retorted, raising an eyebrow, "just a little bit."  
  
"If you are asking me if I had something to do with…whatever this is…the answer is no. As I said, I've no intention of marrying you off anytime soon." He gave her a curious look. "And your answer to him?"  
  
Wraith smirked. "I told him that I would need your approval first."  
  
"Very true. And if I say I approve?"  
  
Wraith's eyes widened. " _Do_  you?"  
  
"I didn't say that," Voldemort told her, a little sharp. "But  _if_  I did--what would be your answer then?"  
  
Wraith sighed and was quiet. Then she rolled her eyes and fell back to lie on the couch. "I'd say no," she said softly. "It's very…flattering, but I've no real interest in him, or anyone like him. And…"  
  
"And what?"  
  
"I don't think he really understands what I am or what I do. I don't think that it's real to him." She turned her head, frowning slightly. "Does that make sense?"  
  
"Actually, it does," Voldemort said, rather surprising her. "Those that are not close to the heart of this war do not see it like we do. It's the reason Davies betrayed me, and why so many followed him. They do not understand until they see the core of it and often when they do…they find something that they do not like."  
  
Wraith looked at him in silence for several long drawn out moments, as though she were contemplating him and his words. "…I'll give Blaise my answer tomorrow. That will be the end of it and hopefully all other attempts like it."  
  
Voldemort nodded and then beckoned to her. "Come here." Wraith slipped off the couch and knelt at his feet, laying her head upon the armrest. Voldemort stroked her hair gently. "I will find someone who is worthy of you and your bloodline. Have no fear of that."  
  
"As long as it is not soon, my Lord," Wraith murmured. "My life has changed enough these past few months."  
  
  
  
  
Zabini was in the library the next morning. He smiled when he saw Wraith enter. "Good morning," he said.  
  
"We should talk," she said simply.  
  
His smiled faltered, but only for a moment. "Alright," he said easily enough. "This is about my…question?"  
  
"Yes," Wraith told him. "I don't think that it's a god idea. For either of us."  
  
"Why not?" Zabini demanded indignantly. "Did…did he not approve?"  
  
Wraith sighed. "Even if he had, Blaise, I would say no."  
  
"Are you going to tell me why?"  
  
She paused, leaning against the shelf. "Tell me, Blaise, have you ever killed anyone? Have you ever taken a life?"  
  
Zabini blinked and then shook his head slowly.  
  
"Have you ever seen someone die?"  
  
"No," Zabini said. "What does that have to do with anything?"  
  
"A great deal," Wraith said evenly. "For it says a great deal about the difference between you and me."  
  
"What do you mean by that?"  
  
A slight and mocking smile came to her face. "Have you even met the Dark Lord?"  
  
"No, I…"  
  
"Good thing," she said, raising an eyebrow. "You'd probably piss yourself."  
  
Zabini's eyes widened and he colored. "You little-!"  
  
He lifted a hand, as if to hit her, and instead hit what felt like an invisible wall. Just as quickly as he had moved, Wraith grabbed the front of his shirt and pushed him back against the nearest wall. She pressed her hand against his heart and looked into his eyes as if searching for something.  
  
"…I could kill you right now, Blaise Zabini," she whispered. "With very little effort at that." She tilted her head to one side, watching the terror grow on his handsome face. "That is what I  _do_ , Zabini. That is what I  _am_. I have the blood of six men on my hands, and that number will grow. You looked at me and saw a girl. You did not see  _me_. You saw what I could you for  _you_  if you charmed me enough."   
  
She released him, stepping back. He remained pressed against the wall.    
  
"Go back to your friends, Blaise," Wraith said condescendingly. "Go back to your comfortable little world and cower there like a good little boy."  
  
She walked away from him then, leaving him shaking against the wall.


	21. Possession

_Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it._  
  
  
  
  
Blaise Zabini spoke not one word to his friends about Wraith after that, though from his expression, they were wise enough not to ask. Malfoy was even kind enough not to tell Zabini "I told you so" but he thought it very loudly.  
  
Zabini and Nott left the Manor only a day after, but Crabbe and Goyle elected to stay. Neither of them had caught even a glimpse of the Wraith, and they were not disturbed by Zabini's silence as Nott had been.   
  
After Zabini, Wraith had been careful not to be seen, sleeping later into the day than usual, and rarely leaving her room in the daylight hours. But after sunset, she would, more often than not, escape to the music room and lock herself in. Narcissa had told her that she had improved enough that a silencing charm was no longer needed on the door, and the music she played would drift through the breadth of the Manor.   
  
The Dark Lord had taken to visit less and less as the week went by, and it left Wraith a little at odds. Something was happening, even the Malfoys had noticed, but Wraith could only guess at what.  
  
  
  
  
"What are you playing?"  
  
Wraith didn't look up from the keys as she continued. " _Greensleeves_ ," she replied. "It's one of my favorites."  
  
The Dark Lord entered the room, shutting the door behind him. He stood at the single window in the room, the dim moonlight streaming in the only light. Wraith glanced at him, but continued to play until the end of the song. When it was over, the Dark Lord looked at her.  
  
"You have improved since the last time I heard you play."  
  
"Thank you, my Lord," she said. "…Would you like me to play another?" she asked on impulse.  
  
"Why don't you?" Voldemort said. "One more, and then I shall tell you what I've brought you."  
  
Wraith smiled and flipped through her music to find another melody that she could play as well as  _Greensleeves_. She settled on  _Cristofori's Dream_  and allowed her mind to drift as she played.   
  
He had never asked her to play for him before, and while she enjoyed it immensely, she couldn't help but to wonder  _why_. He seemed to be in a rare mood, but Wraith was reminded of the night he had given her the mask--the first night that he had shown her to her fellow Death Eaters--the first night that she had killed for him.   
  
When the melody drifted into silence, Wraith lifted her eyes to him once more. He turned from the window and beckoned her to follow him as he left the music room without a backward glance. Wraith stood quickly, pushing away from the piano and hurrying to obey him.  
  
They entered her rooms and there, Voldemort paused. "Do you have a mirror, my pet?"  
  
"Yes," she said and started towards her bedroom. "There's a mirror on the dresser." She paused in front of her bedroom door and then pushed it open. She started to light a candle to dispel the darkness, but Voldemort caught her hand and flicked his wand towards the window. The curtain opened, allowing moonlight in. It reflected in the mirror Wraith had mentioned and she saw a smile form on his face.   
  
"Come here," he ordered, leading her to the mirror. He stood behind her, a hand on her shoulder.   
  
Looking at their shared reflection, Wraith felt tiny. She barely came up to his shoulder. Her eyes caught his in the mirror. "My Lord?"  
  
"I have a task for you," he told her softly, the hand on her shoulder squeezing gently.  
  
From the pocket of his robes, he drew out a long chain attached to a heavy golden locket. He slipped the chain around her neck and drew her long hair free of it.   
  
Wraith blinked at the mirror, lifting a hand to the heavy locket that hung over her heart. It was beautiful, but felt heavier than it ought to have. She studied the serpentine S upon the surface. "S…" she murmured, tracing the cold metal with her finger. "… _Slytherin_?"  
  
"Yes," Voldemort replied, drawing the word out into a hiss. "This locket belonged to my honored ancestor a thousand years ago. It is more valuable to me than you could ever imagine. And you shall be its guardian." He smiled darkly and leaned closer to her, their eyes still locked in the mirror. "Protect it with your life, my pet," he murmured, "as if you were protecting mine."  
  
"Y-yes, my Lord," Wraith breathed, her eyes wide. She closed her hand around the locket. "I will protect it with every fiber of my being. I'm honored that you would entrust it to me."  
  
"I trust in your powers," Voldemort told her, "just as I trust in your loyalty." He smiled again at her reflection. "There will be occasions when I will ask that you wear the locket. But when you do not have it on your person, you are to hide it so that no witch or wizard, save myself, will be able to find it-and there are those that will try."  
  
"I understand, my Lord," Wraith said softly. Her eyes glittered with a touch of pride in the moonlight.  
  
Voldemort reached up and took hold of her wrist, gently pulling her hand from the locket.  
  
"It suits you," he whispered.  
  
  
  
  
It was several days before the Dark Lord returned. When at last he appeared, it was very clear that he was in a dark mood. One passing glanced at his face when he entered and both Lucius and Narcissa retreated to their rooms.  
  
Voldemort strode into Wraith's room, slamming the door sharply behind him. Wraith, sitting with a book on the couch, looked up quickly, eyes wide. "My Lord?" She dropped the book on the table as she stood and crossed to him. "What's happened?"  
  
Voldemort scowled and walked past her. He fell back into his chair without a word, his inhuman face contorted with what was plainly suppressed rage. Wraith looked at him, mouth compressed into a tight line. Then, to the Dark Lord's surprise, he left the room. He looked over as the door opened and closed, and then stared at the door itself.  
  
Barely a minute had passed, however, before she returned, and she quickly crossed over to sit on the floor next to the table. She set a bottle on the surface and conjured a goblet. Voldemort turned his eyes from her, instead staring broodingly into the fire. He didn't look at her again until she held the goblet up to him.  
  
"Lucius can be mad at me later," she said lightly. "I think this is his last bottle of elf-made wine."  
  
Voldemort glanced down at her and then took the offered wine. Wraith waited in silence until he had finished the cup and softly offered to pour a second. Voldemort nodded mutely.  
  
"Are you going to tell me what happened?" she asked as she gave him the wine.  
  
"Negotiations with werewolves."  
  
Wraith frowned. "I thought they were already your allies."  
  
"They were and some will remain so," Voldemort explained bitingly. "But they have a new Alpha wolf who wished to deal with me directly. To renegotiate the terms I set to the previous Alpha. It's what I get for making deals with animals."   
  
"I was under the impression that Greyback was in charge of the werewolves."  
  
"He is ranked highly among them," Voldemort said. "But he does not run with a pack and though he is often called upon to speak for them, he does not lead them."  
  
Wraith moved a little closer, leading towards him. "But what of this new Alpha? Will he be a problem?"  
  
"He's a great deal shrewder than his predecessor," Voldemort said, sounding a touch impressed. "So he may or may not become a problem. We'll have to see."  
  
"What will you do?"  
  
Voldemort looked at her a moment and then reached out to touch her hair.   
  
"…I think I have an idea."


	22. Claw & Fang I

_"By learning to obey, you will know how to command."_  
  
  
  
  
Voldemort returned to the Manor a few days later, and stopped in the parlor to speak with Lucius rather than making his way up the stairs. Lucius was dressed in his finest dress robes, his Death Eater's mask in his hand. Narcissa was also present, in a fine deep green dress and matching jewels. She too had a mask, but a black one that matched the edges of her gown. They bowed low to the Dark Lord, who seemed pleased by their attire.  
  
"You are ready to depart then?"  
  
"At once, my Lord," Lucius said. There was a nervous air about him, for he was entering the Dark Lord's plan without a wand to defend himself with.   
  
The Dark Lord looked to Narcissa. "Where is my Wraith?"  
  
"Upstairs, my Lord," Narcissa said, "but she should be down shortly."  
  
Voldemort turned at the sound of a footfall on the stair and stepped out into the hall.  
  
Wraith came down the stairs, her dress as fine as Narcissa's. It was a deep black that held the same blue tint that her hair did, and the bodice, sleeves, and skirt were all edged in deep gold. Her eyes were dusted with gold of the same shade and, for once, her lips were painted a soft red. The locket hung over her heart as if it were made for her.  
  
She smiled slightly when she saw Voldemort and hurried her step. "I'm sorry I kept you waiting," she said softly. "These skirts are heavier than they look."  
  
"You are ready?"  
  
"Of course," she said, "but you haven't said where all of this is taking place."  
  
"You will see."  
  
They entered the parlor again, and Wraith noted how nervous Lucius appeared. She glanced at the Dark Lord. "My Lord, has Lucius not received his gift?"  
  
"I thought you would like to present it," Voldemort said, drawing a wand from his robes. He passed it to Wraith, while Lucius and Narcissa gaped in amazement.   
  
Wraith smiled and offered the wand to Lucius. "The Dark Lord knows you would be of little use without a wand tonight, Lucius," she said lightly, "so he had the Wandmaker craft you a new one."  
  
"Elm with a dragon heartstring core," Voldemort told him. "To replace your previous one."  
  
Lucius slowly reached for the wand and his eyes met Wraith's in astonishment.  
  
Her smile widened. "Another gift," she whispered. "Though you have done it for your own gain, you and your family have helped me and housed me. I simply want you to know that it is appreciated."  
  
Lucius took the wand, a slight smile on his face as well. "Thank you…my Lady."  
  
Wraith blinked in surprise and then rolled her eyes. "Don't call me that."  
  
"Oh, no, my Lady," Lucius said firmly. "There's no other word for you."  
  
Wraith shook her head, but did not argue further.   
  
Lucius bowed low to Voldemort once more. "Thank you, my Lord." He faltered slightly when his son appeared in the doorway with Crabbe and Goyle.  
  
Voldemort scowled in annoyance as he turned to them. Draco immediately paled and bowed to the Dark Lord, elbowing Crabbe and Goyle so that they did the same. "Sorry," he said quickly. "Er, we didn't…uh." He cleared his throat and looked in panic to his parents.  
  
"It's alright, Draco," Narcissa said, hurrying forward. "We were just leaving." She touched his cheek and smiled hesitantly. "You'll have the run of the Manor tonight, my son. And see what our Lord has brought your father!"  
  
Lucius held up the wand, his eyes still drifting between Voldemort and Wraith nervously.   
  
Wraith stepped forward and touched a hand to Voldemort's arm to draw his attention away from the boys. Draco's jaw dropped at the sight of her. When she gave him an arched look, he colored and quickly recovered, bowing his head to her.   
  
Voldemort touched the hand on his arm and smirked, having caught Draco's reaction. "Come," he said. "It is high time we left."   
  
Draco and his friends scrambled out of the way so that Voldemort and Wraith could pass. Lucius paused next to his son and quickly hissed, "What was that about?"  
  
"I didn't know she could look like that," Draco said, not really paying attention to his words.  
  
"Stay out of trouble, my son," Narcissa told him firmly, warning him of several things at once.  
  
  
  
  
The four Apparated at the gate and arrived on a dark wooded lane not unlike the one they had just left. Wraith lifted her eyes and gasped softly at what she saw ahead of them.  
  
In the darkness, the castle that rose above the trees was unmistakable.   
  
She looked to Voldemort, her hand still upon his arm. "Hogwarts?"  
  
He smirked. "What better place?" He stepped forward, drawing her along with the Malfoys in their wake.  
  
Waiting at the doors of the castle was Severus Snape, dressed in black dress robes and looking not entirely happy about it. He bowed to the dark lord, his eyes resting on Wraith a moment. "Welcome, my Lord," he said. "All is prepared inside the Great Hall. We simply await my fellows and, of course, your guests."  
  
"Well done, Severus," Voldemort said, walking past him and into Hogwarts.  
  
Wraith, almost transfixed, stepped away from the Dark Lord as they entered. She gazed around the entrance hall with mesmerized eyes. She was the first to reach the Great Hall and as she stepped inside, her eyes widened. It was lit with thousands of candles that hung in the air above them, and on the dais across the room is a set of seven, almost throne-like, chairs. She did a little spin, taking it all in, and smiled at the Dark Lord.  
  
"It's magnificent," she told him, "More so than I could have imagined."  
  
"Hogwarts has always been beyond imagining," Snape said lightly. Something flashed across from his face as he looked at her again, for he had caught sight of the locket around her neck. But before Wraith had noticed it, his face became inscrutable once more.   
  
"Severus," Lucius said in greeting, coming forward to clasp Snape's hand.   
  
"Lucius," Snape said in return. "You're looking well. And Narcissa," he added with a nod to Malfoy's wife, "you look lovely."  
  
"You flatter me, Severus," Narcissa said, though she was pleased.   
  
Snape noted the wand in Lucius's hand. "You've found a replacement?"  
  
"It was a gift from our Lord," Lucius told him, his eyes watching as Voldemort crossed to the dais. He then added in an undertone, "Secured by our dear Wraith."  
  
"Truly?"  
  
"It seems that Narcissa and I were correct in thinking she could be of great help to us. Even though she knows we only help her to procure said help…"  
  
"At least you're honest about it," Wraith said, looking over at them with a smirk. "I rather like that about you."   
  
  
  
  
It was almost an hour later that all of the Death Eaters had assembled, dressed in their finest, in the Great Hall of Hogwarts. There were also a number of terrified house-elves among the small crowd, serving trays of food and drink.  
  
Voldemort was already seated in the center of the dais, Snape to his right and Wraith to his left. Slowly, the dais filled. To Wraith's side were Lucius and Narcissa. Their presence on the dais was Voldemort's way of saying that the Malfoys were no longer disgraced in his eye. To Snape's side were Bellatrix and her husband, Rodolphus, highly favored once more as well. Bellatrix nearly outshone her sister in a dark purple velvet dress and a necklace of black stones wrapped around her pale neck.   
  
There were at least twenty others lingering about below the dais, clearing waiting for something.   
  
Voldemort looked to Wraith at last, who nodded and then stood, drawing everyone's attention. Without a word, she stepped down from the dais and crossed through the crowd, disappearing from the Great Hall.  
  
She left the castle itself and walked across the grounds towards the Forbidden Forest. In the dim light cast by the castle's windows, she saw a rather large group waiting at the forest's edge. Wraith set her eyes on one specific man and approached him.  
  
He was tall, with long dark brown hair that was cut raggedly around his shoulders. His face was bearded and his dark eyes were sharp, especially when they came to rest upon Wraith.  
  
"Rafe?" The man nodded to her questioning tone. Wraith bowed her head to him, but did not lower her eyes from his. "The Dark Lord bids you welcome," she said, her voice ringing across the silent grounds.   
  
"Your 'lord' failed to tell us what we are here for," Rafe said sharply.  
  
Wraith's eyes flashed in the darkness and the hint of a smile graced her painted lips. "The Dark Lord's reasons are his own," she told him, her voice edged as a blade. "And if you wish to know them…you will follow me."


	23. Claw & Fang II

_"Evil brings men together."_  
  
  
  
  
Rafe stared at Wraith for a long and pointed moment before he stepped towards her with a sharp smile. "I follow no one," he told her. He offered his arm to her, "But I will walk  _with_  you."  
  
Wraith returned his smile and set her hand upon his arm. They walked up towards the castle, the pack of wolves trailing behind them. As they entered the Great Hall, a hush fell across the Death Eaters there. Wraith nodded to Rafe before releasing his arm and stepping ahead of him. She left the werewolves at the doorway as she strode across the room once more. As she passed, the Death Eaters moved to one side or the other, making a clear path behind her. Her head was tilted down, but her eyes were locked with the Dark Lord's and they shared a similarly dark smile.   
  
She reached the dais and Voldemort held out a hand to her. She took it and dipped once before turning on her feel to stand beside him.   
  
Across the room, Rafe noted that the girl stood to the Dark Lord's left as Snape did to his right. Though she had not introduced herself that was enough for Rafe to deduce exactly who the girl was. The werewolf stepped forward and gave Lord Voldemort a mocking bow.  
  
"Well,  _Dark Lord_ , you have called and I have come," Rafe said, his voice echoing in the Hall. "Now, what do you want?"  
  
"Surely you expected a meeting to occur," Voldemort said. "You claimed that you wished to deal directly with me…and here you shall."  
  
Rafe looked around the Great hall, and his eyes locked onto each face upon the dais. Then he grinned. "Ah, I get it. This is a 'you-show-me-yours-I'll-show-you-mine'. I can play this game." He gestured to one of the werewolves behind him and they stepped forward as well.   
  
Fenrir Greyback grinned at the crowd and stood behind and to the left of Rafe. The Alpha gestured again and another werewolf came forward, this time a woman. Her skin was dark and her wild hair almost as long as Wraith's. She too flashed a wicked grin.  
  
"You know Greyback, of course," Rafe said. "Let me introduce Ze'eva, my sister and second-in-command."  
  
Ze'eva bowed her head, her eyes drifting to Snape's, one second to another.  
  
"Come forward," The Dark Lord told them. "We've much to discuss."  
  
Rafe started towards the dais, Greyback and Ze'eva behind him, but he stopped suddenly and pointed a finger at Voldemort. "You come down from that stage, Dark Lord," the wolf commanded. "You may rule those here, but you do not rule me. Not yet anyhow," he added with a feral grin. "You bring that head of yours a little closer to the ground, my friend, and then we will talk."  
  
There was a flash of red light and a thin, but deep cut appeared on Rafe's cheek. The werewolf snarled and reached the wipe the blood from it.   
  
Wraith had stepped forward, her eyes narrowed. "You will not speak to my Lord in that tone, wolf," she said softly. In the ringing silence, she was heard clearly.  
  
Ze'eva growled and started towards the dais, but Rafe stopped her, grabbing hold of her arm. There was a calculated look in his eye now and he smiled again. "Well, well, the kitten's got claws too." He pulled Ze'eva back and started forward again. "You're the Wraith, aren't you? The Dark Lord's Lady Death."  
  
Wraith smiled slightly and nodded once. Voldemort touched her shoulder and she stepped back again.  
  
Rafe stopped just before the dais and bowed his head to the Dark Lord. "You've quite the arsenal, Dark Lord," he said, more than a little respect in his tone. "Makes me wonder why you'd need  _my_  wolves."  
  
"As I have said before, we can be of great help to one another," Voldemort told him.  
  
"I will bring pride and honor back to my wolves with or without your help, Dark Lord."  
  
"But you will find it much easier  _with_  my help, Rafe," Voldemort said softly. "I do not ask for much, only your loyalty in this war."  
  
"That might be a heavier price than you'd think," Rafe countered. A trickle of blood still ran down his cheek and into his beard.  
  
Voldemort shared a look with Wraith and the girl stepped down off the dais. She reached a hand towards Rafe and Ze'eva growled again. But Rafe bent slightly so that Wraith could touch a finger to the cut. She traced it gently and Rafe felt the wound grow hot and then cold. When Wraith dropped her head, Rafe touched his newly healed cheek curiously.  
  
"Give the Dark Lord your respect and you will be respected in turn," Wraith said. She gave him a questioning look. "That's more than you've gotten from the Ministry, or from the Wizarding population in general, isn't it?"  
  
Rafe looked past her to Voldemort, who had followed his Wraith off the dais. "In all fairness…it is," the wolf admitted. "You may call upon my wolves, Dark Lord, but should your needs counter mine…I  _will_  be first in their eyes."  
  
"The laws that weigh upon your kind will be lifted," Voldemort said in turn, coming up behind Wraith and then standing in front of her. "And I shall give your hunters proper prey."  
  
"An accord then?" Rafe asked, holding out his hand.  
  
"An accord."  
  
They gripped hands and then Rafe stepped back to bow quickly. "Well," he said, "since we're all dressed for the occasion, I'd say this calls for a celebration." He flashed a grin at Wraith and then looked to Voldemort again. "And in anticipation of our joint venture, as it were, I've brought you a gift…my Lord."  
  
He turned and beckoned to his pack. Two scruffy men pulled a woman forward, bound and gagged. "I heard a rumor that you were still seeking out your betrayers," Rafe said as the woman was dropped unceremoniously in front of them. "I caught a group of them hiding out in my forest. This is the only one of the trespassers that survived, but she may have information on the whereabouts of the others you seek."  
  
Voldemort flicked his wand in her direction and she was lifted into the air. He grabbed her chin and examined her face. "Well," he said, very pleased. "Katherine Talbot, isn't it? Your husband must be missing you."  
  
"A good gift then?" Rafe asked.  
  
"Very good," Voldemort said with a nod, releasing the woman. She fell back to the floor. "According to the information I've gathered, Vince Talbot was one of the cornerstones of the rebellion that Davies began…and I'm willing to bet that Katherine will know exactly where her husband is."  
  
He gestured and the crowd cleared a space around them. Those on the dais joined the circle in silence. The Dark Lord knelt down and removed the gag from the woman's mouth. Her pale eyes were glassy as she looked up at him in fear.  
  
"You can forestall your pain, Katherine, if you speak now. Tell me where your husband is."  
  
The woman blinked and suddenly her eyes cleared. She spat at him, struggling against her bonds. "Go to hell!" she shouted hoarsely. "I'll die first!"  
  
Voldemort straightened, wiping the spittle from his cheek. "Oh, I do so appreciate a strong-willed woman."  
  
Bellatrix gave a delighted laugh, biting her lip in anticipation. Wraith stood behind the Dark Lord, a touch of apprehension in her broken eyes.  
  
Voldemort pointed his wand at the woman, still smiling. " _Crucio_!"  
  
The woman's first scream cut into Wraith like a knife and her head snapped up, eyes locking upon Katherine writhing in pain on the floor.   
  
Voldemort lifted the curse and contemplated the woman as she gasped for air. "Another taste, Mistress Talbot?" he asked softly. "Or are you ready to speak?"  
  
Katherine gasped again, gathering her strength. "Go…to…hell," she gasped out. "I will not break."  
  
"Everyone breaks," Voldemort told her. " _Sectumsempra_!"  
  
Jagged slashes crisscrossed over her shoulders and neck. Snape closed his eyes briefly as she screamed. Wraith made a soft noise as if she could feel Katherine's pain, but it was not heard over the screams. She could not look away.  
  
Katherine's screams hit a higher pitch as the Dark Lord set the Cruciatus Curse upon her once more. When he lifted it again, Katherine continued to scream, but this time in words, " _You will not break me_!"  
  
Voldemort flicked his wand almost lazily, slashing her abdomen and arms deeply, spilling copious amounts of her blood upon the marble floor. The scent of blood made Wraith's head spin, but it seemed to rally the werewolves surrounding them, as a chorus of joyful howls filled the Great Hall along with Katherine's screams.  
  
" _Kill me!_ " the woman screamed out as the pain turned her blood to fire. " _Kill me please! Make it stop! KILL ME_!"  
  
Wraith jerked back with a soft gasp, twisting her head away.  
  
…Katherine's screams abruptly ceased.   
  
Trembling slightly, Wraith looked back slowly, eyes wide.   
  
Voldemort was scowling as he kicked Katherine's limp form to confirm that she was gone. The Dark Lord cursed, but he did not notice the way his Wraith stared in horror at the body in the pool of blood. Wraith lifted her eyes across the circle to see Snape watching her, his black eyes narrowed in understanding.   
  
It was too much. Wraith slowly stepped back into the circle itself and then through the crowd. A number of others had broken away as well, muttering disappointedly, so she was not noticed. She walked with careful steps until she reached the entrance hall, and then she collapsed against the wall, gasping for breath as her heart pounded. Tears filled her eyes, but she did not let them fall. She closed her eyes against them.  
  
"Don't breathe through your mouth," said a soft voice.  
  
Wraiths' eyes snapped open again as she realized someone had followed her out. He looked young, with deep brown hair that curled around his chin, and gentle dark eyes.  
  
"I know it's difficult not to," he said quietly, "but it will only make the smell and taste of the blood stronger."  
  
Wraith gaped at him, but did as he said, breathing slowly through her nose.  
  
The stranger grinned. "Sorry for butting in," he said, "but I've a lot of experience in ignoring the smell of fresh blood." His grin widened and Wraith saw pointed fangs. "My name is Janesch."


	24. Claw & Fang III

_"When you live next to the cemetery you cannot weep for everyone."_  
  
  
  
  
Janesch leaned against the wall as well and pulled a slim cigarette from the pocket of his jacket. He lit it with a match and blew a puff of smoke before looking at her again. "Any better?"  
  
Wraith nodded mutely. "You're a vampire," she said. "I've never met one before."  
  
"Well, we're actually something of a rare breed these days," Janesch told her with a hard smirk. He drew another line from his cigarette as silence fell between them again.  
  
"You did her a mercy, you know."  
  
Wraith's head snapped around in panic. Janesch held up a hand to stop her.   
  
"Relax, I'm not going to tattle on you and I doubt anyone else noticed it. They all had their eyes on that woman. I had to focus on something else when the blood began to flow, and I chose you as my focal point."  
  
"…Why?" Wraith asked him.  
  
"It's difficult for things to keep my interest," he replied lightly. He pointed the tip of the cigarette at her. "You're interesting. May I ask what you are? You're plainly no mere witch."  
  
Wraith licked her dry lips. "It's complicated," she said at last.  
  
"I imagine it must be," Janesch said with a nod.  
  
"I…" Wraith began weakly, "I didn't mean to…"  
  
"She wasn't getting out of there alive," Janesch said simply, almost coldly. Wraith noticed a slight accent, but couldn't place it. "She's been spared a lot of pain, and certainly her husband is much safer now…"  
  
"Stop," Wraith said firmly. "Stop talking."  
  
Janesch complied, looking a little amused.  
  
Wraith let out a breath and pushed away from the wall. "What do you want?" she demanded.  
  
"So suspicious," Janesch said with a grin. "One would think that you didn't trust a soul in the world."  
  
"I've no reason to trust you," Wraith pointed out.  
  
"Hmmm…that's true," he replied with another nod. "But then…I'm not asking you to. I'm just trying to have a conversation."  
  
Wraith's eyes narrowed and she crossed her arms. "You aren't afraid of me?" she asked. "Everyone else seems to be."  
  
Janesch smirked. "I wonder if you  _could_  kill me, Lady Death," he said. "You can't stop my heart like you do for the others…my heart doesn't beat anymore." He touched a hand to his chest, still grinning.  
  
"Do you want me to try?" she asked him archly. When he simply smiled, she considered him closely, eyes still narrowed. "What is a vampire doing here?" she asked.   
  
"I came with Rafe's pack," Janesch replied. "We've a deal, him and I. He provides daylight protection and I help protect the pack now and then. He wanted me here tonight…and I'll admit that I wanted to come anyway."  
  
"What on earth for?"  
  
"Like I said, it's hard for things to keep my interest," Janesch said. "You try living for a couple hundred years. It's not nearly as glamorous as you'd think. There's a great deal of boredom involves, a lot of repetition."  
  
Wraith laughed, but it held no humor, and she fell back against the wall again. "I've barely lived the life I have," she murmured.  
  
"You ought to fix that."  
  
Wraith glared at him. "I've recently dealt with a would-be suitor that was looking for the power I could provide him–if you're looking to be another…"  
  
Janesch laughed, delighted. "Oh, heavens no! I don't need that kind of trouble." He looked at her, his eyes dancing with mirth. "Tell you what," he said after another drag from his cigarette, "You want a token of trust? I'll tell you my little secret," he offered in a sing-song tone.   
  
A slight smile fought to break free despite the horror that still stifled her heart. "Alright," she said slowly, curious.  
  
Janesch glanced at the doors to the Great Hall and then slid over closer to Wraith. He leaned close to her ear and whispered. Wraith's eyes widened and she pulled back to see his face.  
  
"You're serious?"  
  
Janesch grinned again. "It's not something one generally lies about, love," he said in an attempt at a serious tone.   
  
"And do you need a similar token from me, vampire?"  
  
"Oh no," he said, shaking his head. "We each hold the other's secret…I think that's more than enough." He looked towards the Hall again. "We ought to get you back in there," he said, "Before your Lord begins to miss you." He jerked his head towards the doors and put out the end of the cigarette. "By the way," he added, humor lighting his face, "You should know now that I am a  _horrible_  influence–never smoke those–they'll kill you."  
  
"Doubt it," Wraith muttered.  
  
Janesch laughed. "Oh, I think I like you, little ghost."  
  
Strangely enough, Wraith suspected that she could grow to like the vampire as well.    
  
  
  
  
They approached the dais and Wraith was glad to see that her disappearance caused no disruption. She purposely kept her eyes from the bloodstains on the floor as they passed them. The body was gone–to where she did not know. With the number of feral werewolves in the Hall, she decided she didn't want to think about it too closely.  
  
Voldemort sat in his throne, speaking in quiet tones to Rafe, who stood to the side of it. His red eyes spotted Wraith as she stepped onto the dais again, accompanied by Janesch.  
  
"My Lord," she said softly, curtsying deeply.  
  
"Where did you disappear to, my Wraith?"  
  
Janesch stepped forward and Wraith caught Rafe rolling his eyes. "It's was my fault entirely, my Lord," the vampire said ostentatiously. "I'm afraid I distracted your Wraith with my silly questions."  
  
"And who are you?"  
  
Janesch gave a grand and sweeping bow. "Janesch Vivaldi, at your service, my Lord."  
  
"He's with me, Dark Lord," Rafe said, his tone suffering. "I apologize for his…well, I apologize for him."  
  
"Wraith?"  
  
"He's no bother, my Lord," Wraith said, shaking her head. "I did not mind the questions."  
  
"No matter," Voldemort said. "Come and sit."  
  
Wraith smiled slightly and took her place at his side. She lifted thankful eyes to Janesch, who gave her a quick wink.   
  
"But what is a celebration without  _music_ , my Lords?" Janesch said, looking to Voldemort and Rafe. "May I correct this?"  
  
"If you feel you must," Voldemort said blandly.  
  
Rafe actually smiled. "It's not as bad as all that, my Lord," he said. "He's actually quite good. Ask Ze'eva if she will sing as well, Vivaldi."  
  
"Of course," Janesch replied, doing something of a half-bow before jumping down from the dais. Wraith watched as he approached the dark-skinned Ze'eva, who scowled at first and then actually smiled. She was rather lovely when she smiled instead of growled. She grabbed the hand of another young female werewolf and they made their way to the side of the crowd. Janesch grabbed a case from just inside the door and Wraith smiled to see him pull out a violin.   
  
He spent a few minutes bringing it to pitch and then nodded to the two girls. Ze'eva began with a vocal chord and the younger girl came in with a harmony. Janesch drew the bow across the strings, a haunting note floating from the instrument. Ze'eva started to sing in a language that Wraith did not know, though she suspected it was Gaelic, and the younger girl kept on with the harmony.   
  
Janesch melody picked up pace and it finally drew the attention of the crowd, werewolves and Death Eaters alike. A number of the wolves paired and began to dance to the tune, and it wasn't long before a couple of the Death Eaters joined in as well. Wraith saw Lucius and Narcissa spinning at the other end of the crowd, looking happier than she had ever seen them.   
  
Rafe excused himself with a smile and caught a woman around the waist, pulling her into the dance. Wraith hid her smile behind her hand as she watched those below. A number of other instruments had joined Janesch's violin, including a set of drums and a number of woodwinds.  
  
Listening with half an ear to the music, Wraith leaned towards Voldemort. "Have things progressed as you wanted, my Lord?"  
  
"They have," Voldemort replied. "Things are going quite well. Except…"  
  
"Except for the prisoner," Wraith finished, doing her best to keep the guilt from her voice.  
  
But Voldemort seemed to notice something, for he turned his eyes to her. "You sound as though there is something you want to say, my pet."  
  
Wraith hesitated, her eyes downcast. "I have to admit, my Lord…I do not think that I care for torture." She glanced at him cautiously. "I understand that it has its uses…but…"  
  
"Speak, my Wraith. You'll not be punished for it."  
  
"Her screams shook me," Wraith admitted softly. "I did not like it."  
  
Voldemort considered her and then shook his head. "Never mind that," he told her. "Not every one of my followers has the stomach for it."  
  
"I'm sorry if I disappoint, my Lord," Wraith whispered, her voice low.  
  
"T'would be hard for you to do, my pet," Voldemort said. "As I said, never mind it." He reached over and took hold of the locket that hung over her heart. "You've plenty of other skills, my pet. I won't begrudge you this."  
  
"Thank you, my Lord," Wraith said, truly grateful.   
  
Down below, Janesch gave his violin to another player, who took it up in the same quick style that the vampire had. Janesch bounded up to the dais and bowed to both Voldemort and Wraith. Voldemort released his hold on the locket and sat back, his eyes sharp on the vampire.  
  
"May I beg a dance, Lady Wraith?" Janesch asked, offering a hand."  
  
Wraith blinked at him and then glanced at Voldemort. She shook her head quickly. "I don't know how," she admitted.  
  
Janesch grinned. "I'll teach you. It's not hard to learn." He kept his hand out to her, waiting patiently.  
  
Wraith looked to Voldemort again, who waved her off. Still hesitant, Wraith placed her hand in Janesch's and allowed him to lead her down to the floor.   
  
He moved slowly, allowing her plenty of time to object, as he placed a hand at her waist. She stiffened slightly, but did not object aloud. With one hand still clasped with his, she used her free hand to lift her heavy skirts off the ground. Janesch led her around in a circle, keeping his steps easy for her to follow.   
  
"Why am I so interesting to you?" Wraith asked him.  
  
"It's not often that I've seen Rafe tossed back on his furry backside," Janesch told her. "You're rather good at keeping people off balance, aren't you, little ghost?"  
  
"Perhaps it's because I'm rather off balance myself," she retorted, raising an eyebrow.  
  
"You wouldn't guess by your dancing," Janesch said lightly. "You're quite graceful really."  
  
She was amazed to find that she was enjoying herself. "Where were you born, vampire?" she asked out of curiosity.  
  
"Well, I was born in Sicily," he confessed, "but I spent most of my life, both mortal and immortal, in France. I've been drifting up and down this isle for the last thirty years or so." His eyes lit up towards the dais. "Your Dark Lord has certainly made things interesting here."  
  
"I don't think you mean that to be complimentary," commented Wraith.   
  
"Not entirely, perhaps," Janesch said with a wink. "It's an old curse, you know: 'May you live in interesting times'. I've found it to be a very potent curse."  
  
Wraith gave him an ironic smile and resisted the urge to roll her eyes at him.  
  
"I want to see you again," Janesch told her as the dance ended. "You delight me, little ghost. Say that I can visit you."  
  
"…Come to the Manor," she told him impulsively. "I want to hear you play again."  
  
"Do you play an instrument, love?"  
  
"I do," Wraith said with a smile. "Well, I've been learning to play the piano."  
  
"Then we shall have to practice a duet," Janesch insisted. "The two instruments play well together. I think we will too."  
  
Wraith nodded, smiling brighter than she could remember having done before. She looked up to the dais to see the Dark Lord watching her with sharp eyes.   
  
"You've had your dance, Janesch," Wraith said, turning back to him.   
  
"And I thank you for it," Janesch said with a nod. He too had seen the sharp look Voldemort was giving his Wraith. "Go on back to your Lord. I'm off to reclaim my instrument."  
  
  
  
  
The rest of the night proceeded quickly. As the werewolves gathered to leave, Janesch among them, Rafe offered his hand to Voldemort once more and bowed low before he left. The vampire threw another quick wink at Wraith before he too disappeared into the night.  
  
"Your dance will set the tongues wagging."  
  
Wraith turned slightly to see Snape standing near. She frowned. "The tongues will wag no matter what I happen to do," she came back tartly.   
  
She remembered meeting his eyes across the circle and remembered too late what had sent her flying from the Great Hall. She looked back at him uncertainly, but he had already walked away.  
  
 _Janesch wasn't the only one watching me._


	25. Connection

_"The optimist proclaims that we live in the best of all possible worlds, and the pessimist fears this is true."_  
  
  
  
  
When Wraith descended to the dining room the morning after, she took advantage of the empty table to speak quietly with Jiri for the first time in months. The house-elf seemed glad to talk, though not all that they exchanged were pleasantries.  
  
"The Master and Mistress spoke last night of someone you had met."  
  
"Did they know him? Had they met him before?"  
  
"No, Miss," Jiri said, shaking his head.  
  
"There's that at least," Wraith murmured into her tea. "It was just gossip then?"  
  
"It sounded so, Miss."  
  
Wraith fell silent, noting the new bandages on Jiri's hand. When the house-elf turned to go, she reached out and grabbed his arm to stop him.  
  
"Jiri…what happened to the Malfoys' first house-elf?"  
  
Jiri shook his head, looking frightened. "I don't know, Miss."  
  
She touched the bandage on his injured hand. "I can fix this for," she offered softly.  
  
Jiri stared up at her in silence and then shook his head. "It is not bad, Miss."  
  
"If it ever is…"  
  
Jiri tried to smile. "I know, Miss."  
  
Wraith's smile was rather forced as Jiri gathered up her dishes and left. Once he had gone, she sat back in her chair, frowning thoughtfully. She pushed away from the table, considering speaking with Lucius or Narcissa about their house-elf's lot––but then she paused.  _I won't always be here_ , she realized.  _How would I know if something happened to him after I am gone_? She decided to say nothing, but she would continue to watch and protected him when she could. She paused again, wondering why she should feel so protective of him––and then she smiled, shaking her head.  _Funny––I think Jiri is the only creature in this house that_  isn't  _afraid of me._  
  
As she walked out of the dining room, intending to go back to her own rooms, she saw Draco and his two friends coming down the stairs. Draco paled a little when he saw her, but seemed to calm when she offered a small smile.  
  
"Good morning, Draco," she said as they reached the bottom of the stairs. "Crabbe, Goyle." She nodded in their direction.  
  
"Uh, morning," Draco said. When he didn't say anything else, Wraith started past him towards the stairs. "Listen," he said quickly, making her pause. "…er…Thanks."  
  
"For?" Wraith asked, puzzled.  
  
"For my parents," Draco said in a rush.  
  
Wraith did not smile, but her eyes softened. "It was the Dark Lord who granted them favor, Draco."  
  
"But you…suggested it."  
  
"…I owed them a debt, however small," Wraith conceded. "I did what I could to repay it."  
  
Something of a tense silence fell before Draco hesitantly broke it, "You…er…last night, you…you looked very nice."  
  
Wraith's eyes widened in surprise and then sparkled with good humor. "Thank you," she said lightly. She blinked, fighting a smile, as she hurried up the stairs.  
  
Draco leaned against the railing, letting out a deep breath of relief. Seeing the confounded looks on Crabbe and Goyle's faces, he scowled. "Shut it," he muttered, stalking into the dining room.   
  
  
  
  
A couple of days later, early in the evening, Narcissa knocked on Wraith's door. The girl answered, frowning slightly. Narcissa cleared her throat and held out an envelope. "I apologize for disturbing you, but…you've received a letter."  
  
Wraith blinked in surprise. "Who would be writing to me?" she wondered aloud, curiosity making her eyes a little brighter. She looked at the envelope, a bemused smile on her face, and then tore it open. Reading quickly, her expression did not change...but Narcissa saw the glint of humor in her strange eyes.  
  
"…May I ask…?"  
  
Wraith raised an eyebrow, humor still shining. "You didn't look before bringing it up to me?"  
  
Narcissa tilted her head up indignantly. Before she could utter what was sure to be a scathing reply, Wraith waved it away. "Thank you, Narcissa."  
  
Narcissa, still in something of a huff, nodded once and turned on her heel. Wraith smirked and closed the door.  
  
After twenty minutes or so, Wraith came down the stairs and poked her head into the parlor. "Narcissa, may I borrow your owl to send a reply?"  
  
"Oh," Narcissa blinked. "Of course."  
  
She rose to show Wraith where their eagle owl rested and watched with barely concealed interest as Wraith tied a letter to owl's leg. The girl murmured her thanks to the owl before he took off through the window.   
  
"I think I'll have a little supper," Wraith said easily, before Narcissa could ask her anything. "Thank you again, Narcissa."  
  
Narcissa was sure that she heard laughter behind the girl's kind words and the thought made her scowl with impatience.  _Just what is that strange little girl up to?_  
  
The answer came late the next night. The clock had only just struck ten when someone knocked at the front door. The Malfoys jumped, startled by the sound, and Draco ventured out to answer whoever had come to call.   
  
Draco opened the door, but frowned at the seemingly young man who stood waiting. "Who are you?"  
  
"He's my guest," Wraith called from the stairwell. She smirked at the blank look on Draco's face and the puckish grin on Janesch's. She continued down and gestured to the vampire. "Come on it, Janesch," she said. "You brought it, yes?"  
  
"Naturally," Janesch replied, holding up a case as he stepped over the threshold.  
  
"Then I'll show you the music room." She turned on her heel, still smirking, and Janesch followed her up the stairs and out of sight.  
  
Draco, still befuddled, turned towards the parlor to find his parents in the doorway. He shrugged, not entirely sure what had just happened.  
  
  
  
  
Behind the closed door of the music room, Janesch roared with laughter. He drew in a deep breath and grinned at the innocent look on Wraith's face. "Oh, that was priceless, love," he said, throwing himself into a chair. "You did that on purpose," he added accusingly.  
  
"Yes, I did," she replied evenly, sitting at the piano. "I wanted to see what would happen."  
  
"And were you satisfied with their dumbfounded expressions?"  
  
"Oh yes," Wraith admitted, smiling at him over her shoulder. "But their surprise wasn't the only reason I didn't tell them you were coming."  
  
"Oh? Pray tell, my love."  
  
"I didn't tell them–so that they couldn't tell anyone else."  
  
Janesch raised an eyebrow. "Are we concerned with your Lord's reaction to my being here?"  
  
"…A little," Wraith said softly. "It's not just him, though. I didn't want Bellatrix coming just to spoil things either."  
  
Janesch blinked at the ire in her voice when she spoke the name. "Can I see the dagger?" he asked after a moment of thoughtful silence.  
  
Wraith sighed and snapped her fingers. The sheathed blade appeared in her hand and she threw it at him. He caught it and pulled the blade free. Holding it up, he mused, "Not bad work, for a conjuring." He smirked at Wraith. "So, the rumors are true? Little Miss Lestrange actually _threw_  this at you?"  
  
"She did," Wraith replied, a shadow passing over her face.  
  
Janesch saw it and sobered. "How close did she get?"   
  
Wraith touched her hand to where the dagger had pierced her. Janesch stood and knelt before her, being careful not to touch.   
  
"Well," he said at last, looking up and meeting her eyes. "That bitch."  
  
Wraith choked on a laugh, breaking the tension. Janesch sprawled on the floor, hands behind his head. "So, why weren't you wearing the dagger the night we met?"  
  
"The Dark Lord asked me to leave it behind," Wraith explained. "Wouldn't do to be less than a united front to the werewolves, now would it?"  
  
"Hmph, very true," Janesch said. "But other than that…you keep it with you?"  
  
Wraith smiled darkly. "The Dark Lord has said that I'm vicious in a temper."  
  
"Vicious is a good word," Janesch said lightly, nodding. " _Vindictive_  is another." He grinned to cancel out the almost harsh term.   
  
Wraith raised an eyebrow, holding out a hand for the blade. Once in her palm, it disappeared. "Are we going to play or not?" she asked tartly.  
  
"If you insist," Janesch replied, hopping up.  
  
"Show me the music you brought," Wraith said.   
  
Janesch grinned and opened his violin case, pulling out a few pages of music. He arranged them on the piano and stood back to let Wraith look them over.   
  
Wraith looked at the title of the piece, rereading it several times to make sure she wasn't mistaken.   
  
"…You've a very twisted sense of humor, Vivaldi," she said at last, her voice very dry.  
  
" _Oui_ ," Janesch said, grinning as he leaned over her shoulder. "And you shall come to love me for it, little ghost."


	26. Death's Duet

_"Love and magic have a great deal in common. They enrich the soul, delight the heart. And they both take practice."_  
  
  
  
  
Janesch returned to the Manor the following night, and as he did the first night, followed Wraith upstairs to the music room, locking the door behind them. Wraith had taken to soundproofing the door for the first time in weeks, leaving the Malfoys completely in the dark as to what they were doing. Each of the three made a great many excuses to pass by the door throughout the hours that Janesch remained, but whatever they expected, they heard nothing to support it.  
  
Behind the door itself, Janesch was delighted each time they heard someone pass the door, and would break from the music to laugh. This annoyed Wraith from time to time. However morbid the music, she fell into it with a passion that rather impressed the vampire. She was very single-minded, Janesch realized as they practiced, when it came to what she wanted.   
  
After a few hours of practice, Wraith relented and Janesch fell into a chair, smiling at her tenacity.   
  
"You catch on pretty quick, little ghost," he said with a sigh. "I'll have to bring more complicated pieces next time. You need more to occupy your whirling mind."  
  
Wraith smiled, but it was rather humorless.  
  
Janesch tilted his head, studying the shadow in her eyes. " _Qu'est-ce que c'est_? What's wrong?"  
  
Wraith closed the lid on the piano and stood, walking to the window.  
  
"…He hasn't returned since that night," she said softly, frowning. "The night we met with the werewolves…the night I met you."  
  
"You're speaking of the Dark Lord," Janesch murmured, standing as well. "Is it odd? This time away?"  
  
"Not entirely," Wraith admitted. "But the last time he spent days away was when he was dealing with the werewolves––when Rafe took the place of Alpha….I just wonder if something else has gone wrong…"   
  
"Or?"  
  
"Or if he's trying to punish me," Wraith said, the words almost falling from her lips. "He did not like my dance with you."  
  
"A jealous lord, is he?" Janesch said, standing with her at the window.  
  
"Not precisely," Wraith replied.  
  
"May I ask, little ghost, exactly what are you to him? What is he to you?"  
  
Wraith shrugged, almost at a loss to explain. "He is my master, my lord," she said after a moment's thought. "I was brought up to be his servant."  
  
"You were raised for nothing else?"  
  
"I was born for nothing less."  
  
The words made Janesch frown slightly as he contemplated them. "…So, he did not like our dancing?"  
  
"I think…that he does not want me to be close to anyone but him," Wraith guessed. She thought back to her very brief conversation with Clara Bauman and the Dark Lord's reaction to it. "I'm almost sure of it," she whispered.  
  
"And if he returns…when I am here? Would you be punished?"  
  
"I might be," Wraith said, uncertainly.  
  
"Should I leave, perhaps, until you can gain his permission?"  
  
"No," Wraith said, rather sharply. "I never fight him on anything––not really––but I would fight him on this. I'm tired of having no one to talk to. I'm tired of be surrounded by people who are afraid of me."  
  
"What makes you think that I'm not afraid of you?"  
  
Wraith gave him a grim look, but he simply smiled.  
  
"Shall we get back to practice?" he asked.  
  
Wraith looked out the window for a moment and the nodded, turning away from the glass.   
  
  
  
  
"Thank you, Jiri," Wraith said as the house-elf set a tray of tea of the little table in the music room. Lowering her voice, she asked, "Are they still trying to listen at the keyhole?"  
  
Jiri gave a small smile and nodded. "Now and again, Miss."  
  
Wraith shared a smile with Janesch, who stifled a laugh. Jiri bowed to them both and left. Wraith closed the door after him and added the soundproofing charm once more.  
  
"Are you really surprised?" Janesch asked her, pouring a cup of tea for each of them.   
  
"Well, it's been a few days now," Wraith said, sitting on the piano bench. "You'd think they would be used to you by now."  
  
"Darling, they're not even used to you."  
  
Wraith made a face, but did not argue.  
  
"I think you've got it," Janesch told her. "Shall we open the door and see what they think?"  
  
"I don't know…"  
  
"Oh, come on," Janesch taunted. "It'll be fun."  
  
Wraith rolled her eyes. "Alright…open the door."  
  
" _Très bon_ ," Janesch said, letting the door swing open. He stuck his head out into the hallway to see if any of the Malfoys were still lurking about. "I do believe that they went downstairs," he said as he took up his violin. "Let's get their attention."  
  
The music began softly, just within their hearing range, with light piano and a single haunting note from the violin. Then Janesch truly began.  
  
  
  
  
In the parlor below, Lucius and Narcissa's heads snapped up and they hurried upstairs to see just what was going on. Down the hall in his room, Draco also heard the strange music. He gestured silently to Crabbe and Goyle the three of them walked down to the music room too.  
  
The sudden presence of an audience did not seem to faze either player as they continued. Janesch's eyes were closed as he played, his mouth set in a line as he concentrated. Wraith's eyes were also closed, but there was a small and distant smile upon her face.  
  
"What  _is_  that they're playing?" Narcissa asked her husband softly, hoping that her voice would not break the spell.  
  
A smile edged at Lucius's mouth. " _Danse Macabre_ ," he replied. "The gruesome dance––or the dance of the dead, as it's sometimes called."  
  
"Dance of the dead?" Narcissa repeated, her eyes going wide. "My."  
  
Absorbed once more in the music, no one in the doorway noticed another presence join them. But Wraith's eyes opened just slightly and she struggled not to look up.  
  
The music built into the roar as her fingers flew across the keys and Janesch felt a line of red-tinged sweat run down his brow. Wraith was certain that she had never played so well as when she did with Janesch.   
  
And then the music slowed, bit by bit, and Janesch drew a softer, almost saddening tone, as the music came to an end.  
  
Lucius, Narcissa, and Draco hesitantly clapped as the players finally acknowledged their existence. Janesch grinned and made a sweeping bow to them. But when he lifted again, his grin faltered and then fell away.  
  
Wraith had no eyes for the Malfoys or Draco's friends––All she saw was him. Her heart pounded as she slowly stood and stepped away from the piano.   
  
Janesch made a move as if to stop her, but he caught himself before he touched her. For the first time in a long time, the vampire felt fear for someone beyond himself.   
  
The Malfoys, along with Crabbe and Goyle, stood aside as Wraith reached them.   
  
"That…what was very well done," Narcissa whispered.  
  
"Yes," Lucius added, just as softly, but he dared say nothing more.  
  
Wraith could not even murmur her thanks. She stopped before him, briefly meeting his eyes, and then sunk into a deep curtsy, her eyes on the floor.  
  
"My Lord," she murmured. "…Welcome back."  
  
"We must speak, you and I," Voldemort told her.  
  
"Yes, my Lord…I know."  
  
She straightened, not daring to look behind her, and followed the Dark Lord down the hall to her room.  
  
  
  
  
Voldemort paced before the fire while Wraith shut and locked her door. As an afterthought, she placed the same soundproofing charm upon it that she did the music room. She trembled slightly as she turned to the Dark Lord. She had never knowingly done something he would disapprove of. She did not know what would happen.  
  
"I wonder," Voldemort said softly, "I wonder if you are deliberately testing my patience…"  
  
"No, my Lord," Wraith started haltingly. "I didn't––"  
  
" _Silence_ ," Voldemort hissed, turning to her. "Why is the vampire here, Wraith?"  
  
"Because I invited him," Wraith replied, lifting her eyes, "…my Lord."  
  
"And you wonder why I think you are purposely testing me!"  
  
"I…I only wanted someone to talk to, to share something with…"  
  
"But you couldn't choose a––a  _friend_  of proper blood?"  
  
Despite her fear, Wraith felt her temper snap. "Every man, woman, and child of  _proper_  blood is terrified of the air I breathe!" Voldemort's eyes narrowed dangerously, but Wraith lifted her eyes once more and dared to speak further. "You have set me apart––and thus made me alone!"  
  
"I would think that after a lifetime alone in Azkaban, you would be accustomed to it."  
  
Wraith let out a short and desperate laugh. "You jest," she hissed at him. "There is no  _alone_  in Azkaban! You may never see their faces, but you are  _always_  surrounded. There is no peace, no silence within those walls! Hour by hour, day by day, those voices scream and they cry, and they  _beg_! And those sounds scratch and tear at your sanity until there is  _nothing_  left."  
  
Voldemort slowly approached her, his inhuman face tight with anger. But still she spoke.  
  
"Don't talk to me of Azkaban," she told him, her breath coming in short painful bursts. "You know not of what you speak!"  
  
Voldemort wrapped a long-fingered hand around her throat and she offered no resistance. Though prepared for it, the pain that suddenly coursed through her made her scream. Like fire beneath her skin, it burned throughout her veins, and stole the strength from her.  
  
He released her and she fell to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut. She lay on the floor, gasping for breath, as the pain slowly subsided.  
  
"You will not see him again."  
  
Wraith blinked away the tears in her eyes and coughed weakly when she tried to speak. "…H-he's not a threat to you," she murmured. "Is it so terrible for me to have a friend?" She slowly lifted herself into a sitting position. "I am not as self-sufficient as you, my Lord," she said. "And you are not always here."  
  
Voldemort scowled down at her and turned away, taking his chair by the fire. Wraith struggled in silence to stand and follow him. At his feet, her strength failed and she collapsed once more.   
  
"…I've very little in my life, for all that I have your favor," she told him. She reached forward to place her hand upon his knee. "…Let me keep him. Please, my Lord…"  
  
"Be quiet."  
  
Wraith fell silent, waiting. She wondered if it was a good sign that he had not moved her hand.   
  
"I do not care for him."  
  
"I know," Wraith said softly, "but he has no stake in this war––he has no reason to fear me––and he does have the proper respect for you, my Lord. Let me keep him."  
  
…  
  
"Very well."  
  
Wraith sighed deeply and laid her head upon her hand. "Thank you," she breathed, almost inaudible. "Thank you, my Lord."


	27. Opportunity

_"There exist only three beings worthy of respect: the priest, the soldier, the poet. To know, to kill, to create."_  
  
  
  
  
The following night, a small barn owl came through the window of the Malfoys' parlor carrying a thin envelope. Narcissa grabbed it quickly, scanning the handwriting on the outside. Recognizing it, she moved to tear it in half.  
  
"Don't."  
  
Narcissa looked up to see Wraith in the doorway. The older woman hesitated. She held up the letter. "Have you already forgotten what happened last night? I would think that you––"  
  
"The Dark Lord and I have discussed it," Wraith said, her voice low. "He does not approve of Janesch––but he is tolerant. Give me my letter."  
  
Narcissa handed it over, still uncertain. Wraith took the letter and disappeared from the room. It wasn't until she was safely in her own room that she opened the envelope and read.  
  
  
 _Wraith,  
  
Let me know if you're still alive.  
  
Janesch_  
  
  
Wraith smiled weakly and set to write a reply.  
  
  
 _Janesch,  
  
I'm alright. Consider yourself invited back.  
  
Wraith_  
  
  
She went back downstairs and, without bothering to ask Narcissa, borrowed their owl to send it out. She then waited in the entrance hall.  
  
Less than an hour passed before he arrived, knocking quickly at the door. Wraith answered, ridiculously glad to see him again. "Hello, Janesch."  
  
"Ah, little ghost," Janesch said, quite tempted to throw his arms around her. He muttered something in French under his breath and Wraith suspected that he was cursing.  
  
"Come in," she told him.  
  
"But you really are alright?" Janesch asked her as they headed upstairs.  
  
"Yes," Wraith said. "It was an argument for the history books," she muttered, leading him past the music room and to her own rooms instead. "Though I think I did most of the arguing, to be honest."  
  
Janesch closed and locked the door behind them and held out his hand to her. "I know you don't like being touched," he said, "but may I please hug you?"  
  
Wraith smiled at the absurdity of the question and she shrugged. Janesch quickly pulled her into a loose embrace, sighing deeply as he did so.  
  
" _Je suis désolé_ , little ghost," he murmured as he let her go. "I got you into trouble."  
  
"I got myself into trouble, thank you," Wraith retorted.  
  
Janesch laughed and took the opportunity to look around the room. "So, this is where the Wraith sleeps?"  
  
"Most of the time," Wraith said. "I find the couch more comfortable than the bed."  
  
"Oh, the many things that come to mind…"  
  
Wraith rolled her eyes and slapped him lightly on the shoulder. Janesch gave her that puckish grin and threw himself on the couch.   
  
"So," he said lightly, "What next? Did you enjoy the  _Danse Macabre_?"  
  
"I did," Wraith admitted.   
  
"I am sorry to admit that in my rush over, I forgot my instrument," Janesch told her. "But I will correct this next time."  
  
"It's alright," Wraith said, standing by the fireplace. "Your company is enough."  
  
"The feeling's mutual, little ghost." He sat up and patted the couch next to him. "Come and sit. I will tell you outrageous tales of life in France."  
  
Wraith smiled and sat with him, and was eventually pulled out of her own dark thoughts and into his tales.   
  
  
  
  
A few days later, just before sunset, Wraith sat in her music room alone, shifting through a selection of music that Janesch had give her. She was just testing out a melody when a hoarse yell echoed up from the cellar. She froze, head tilted towards the door. When a second scream followed the first, Wraith scowled and stood, slamming the lid on the piano.  
  
She stalked down the cellar steps and was unsurprised to find the door open. Fenrir Greyback had a tight hold of the prisoner's neck, his sharpened nails digging into the flesh and drawing blood.  
  
"Hasn't the Dark Lord asked that you not play with your food, Fenrir?"  
  
The werewolf immediately released the prisoner, who slumped in the chains that bound him to the wall. They both looked over to see the frail, but intimidating form there. Wraith's crystal eyes were narrowed as she leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed tightly over her chest.   
  
"I didn't mean to disturb the Dark Lord––"   
  
"You are fortunate, Fenrir, that the Dark Lord is not here. Especially considering that this prisoner is not yours to play with."  
  
"Ah," Fenrir said, "well, then––"  
  
"You have, unfortunately, disturbed me."  
  
Neville watched in fascination as the feared werewolf paled. Wraith sighed and gestured dismissively to him. Fenrir scrambled past her and up the cellar stairs, leaving her and the prisoner alone.   
  
Wraith considered him, chained there, with her head tilted to one side. She turned to leave, but he called out to her.  
  
"Who are you?"  
  
She paused and glanced back over her shoulder. "These days I seem to have a collection of names––the Dark Lord calls me Wraith."  
  
Neville's eyes widened. "Wraith? The Dark Lady? The one they say is Death herself?"  
  
Wraith sighed in a rather suffering way. "Here I stand," she said, gesturing grandly, but ironically. "But it is my belief that Death, be they Lord or Lady, is kept far busier than I."  
  
"If you're not Death, then what are you?"  
  
She smirked. "Complicated." She started to turn away again.  
  
"How many people have you killed?"  
  
"Seven," she replied before he had even finished the question, eyes flashing as they turned back to him. "I have killed seven people. And unless you have frequented circles that include Death Eaters and fellow servants of the Dark Lord, I have killed no one you knew." She paused. "I am the Dark Lord's Executioner, reserved for the worst offenders within his own ranks."  
  
Neville continued to stare at her, realizing something incredible.   
  
"You don't like it, do you?"  
  
Wraith appeared affronted, disturbed by his realization. "I do as my Lord bids. I cannot do otherwise." She turned once more…but then seemed to change her mind. "What is your name?" she asked, leaning against the doorframe again.  
  
"Neville Longbottom."  
  
Wraith blinked and touched an absentminded hand to the knife at her waist. "Longbottom. Your parents––were they the Aurors that the Lestranges tortured?"  
  
"Yes," Neville replied, lifting his head proudly.   
  
"That explains it then."  
  
"Explains what?"  
  
Wraith gave him a careful look. "Why the Dark Lord is planning to give you to Bellatrix as a gift." She was impressed by the almost calm way he took that bit of news. "You  _do_  understand what she'll most likely do to you?" Wraith said slowly.   
  
"I know," Neville said. "I've run into her before."  
  
Wraith unsheathed her knife and held it up in the dim light. A small, almost playful smile came to her face.  
  
"Tell me, Neville, how good are you at getting out of tight spots?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Well, it's just that Bellatrix can be careless sometimes…I'm sure you've seen that in the past."  
  
Neville's eyes narrowed and he began to understand. "But––wait, you aren't planning to  _help_  me…why would you…?"  
  
"I don't like torture as an amusement," Wraith said simply, her fingers curling around the hilt of the dagger. "And I don't particularly like Bellatrix either. I don't like the way she plays. When I am ordered to kill, I kill quickly and I kill cleanly."  
  
"Are you going to kill me?" Neville asked softly. "To spare me of Bellatrix's 'fun'?"  
  
"Oh, no," Wraith replied slowly, shaking her head. "No, whatever happens to you will largely depend on your own skills. One could escape almost anything––if he watches for the right opportunity." She sheathed the blade again and turned away. "When you get out of here––"  
  
" _When_?"  
  
She smirked. "When you get out of here––we didn't have this conversation. Is that understood?"  
  
Neville nodded mutely.   
  
"Good luck," Wraith called dryly from the stairs before the door swung closed again.  
  
  
  
  
Several days passed before both Voldemort and the Lestranges returned to the Manor. Wraith touched a hand to her knife as Bellatrix and her husband hurried past her to the cellar. A small smile played at her lips.  
  
Down below, Neville heard the footsteps and braced himself as well as he could within the chains. The Wraith had not returned since their strange conversation and he no longer trusted her words.  
  
When he heard Bellatrix's cackling laugh at the top of the stairs, his jaw tightened. He watched as Bellatrix threw open the door and smiled cruelly at him.  
  
"Aw, if it isn't the little Longbottom boy! Have you missed me?"  
  
Neville said nothing to goad her or even to acknowledge her presence.  
  
Bellatrix scowled briefly before her smile returned. She held up her wand and tapped it to her cheek. "I wonder how long you'll last…compared to your parents?"  
  
Neville's eyes narrowed, but before he could say anything, something caught his eye. A quick flash of light or glow of some kind. Neither Bellatrix nor Rodolphus seemed to notice it. His eyes followed it…and then he saw the source of it.  
  
His wand. Poking out from Bellatrix's pocket.  
  
 _Bellatrix can be careless sometimes…One could escape almost anything––if he watches for the right opportunity._  
  
Neville had to hide his sudden smile.  
  
 _The right opportunity…_


	28. Reckoning

_"Life being what it is, one dreams of revenge."_  
  
  
  
  
There was a shout from the cellar that Wraith recognized as Neville's voice. Up in her music room, she waited, listening intently.  _Forgive me for the pain. I cannot help you that much_. She prayed that he had seen what she had, passing Bellatrix in the hall.  
  
It didn't take much, Wraith thought scathingly. The woman probably intended to use the boy's own wand against him, just for irony of it.   
  
Another shout caught Wraith's attention––for it was  _not_  Neville's voice.  
  
It was Bella's.  
  
Though she longed to rush down and see what had happened, she did not dare. Not yet. She soundproofed the door on both sides, and the shouts and crashes from below went silent. Instead of sitting at the piano, she went to the window and waited, staring out onto the grounds below.   
  
After a few minutes, she saw a side door burst open, spilling light onto the hedged path. Neville scampered over the grass, wand in hand, throwing curses over his shoulder at his pursuers. Wraith saw one stunning curse hit Rodolphus straight in the chest and the man keeled over where he stood. Another curse only just missed Bellatrix as she ran after him.  
  
Wraith lifted her hand, pressing it against the glass, and let just a little spark of power flow from her down to the woman. Bellatrix tripped suddenly, sprawling gracelessly over the grass, her wand flying from her hand.   
  
Wraith smirked and turned away from the window when Neville reached the edge of the grounds and Disapparated. Only then did she sit at her piano to play once more.   
  
There was a terrible crash from below, and while Wraith could not hear it, it shook the glass in the window.  _Hm. Can't ignore that, now can I?_  
  
She stood quickly, throwing open the door and rushing down. She ran into the parlor in time to see Voldemort reduce several pieces of priceless antique furniture to dust with one sweeping curse. She hesitated in the doorway, her eyes taking in the sight of the still burning ashes, and the crumpled form of Lucius Malfoy on the floor. Her heart skipped a beat.  _Oh, stars––what have I done?_  
  
"M-my Lord?" she called softly.   
  
Lord Voldemort turned burning eyes to her.  
  
"My Lord, what happened?"  
  
Voldemort seemed to collect himself slightly. "Bellatrix has allowed our prisoner to escape," he told her sharply.  
  
Wraith lifted her eyes away from Lucius, meeting Voldemort's gaze. "Do you want me to go after him?"  
  
Voldemort was silent, considering it. Wraith held her breath.  
  
"No," he said at last. "No––bring me Bellatrix."  
  
Wraith bowed her head and left the room, still wondering if Lucius was alive or not. She followed the signs of battle to the side door that Neville has escaped out of. She slowly approached Rodolphus's still form, for Bellatrix was kneeling beside him.  
  
When Bellatrix lifted wary eyes to Wraith, the younger girl spoke almost gently. "The Dark Lord calls for you."  
  
Bellatrix's mouth tightened, one hand still upon her husband's chest.   
  
"I can set him to rights," Wraith told her, kneeling beside Rodolphus as well. "You know not to keep the Dark Lord waiting."  
  
Bellatrix scowled at her. "You're pleased that I've failed, aren't you?"  
  
"Exceedingly," Wraith told her, a hard smile coming to her face. "Go, Bella. Our Lord is impatient."  
  
Bellatrix, shaking slightly, stood and disappeared into the Manor. Wraith watched her go, a satisfied smirk twisting her lips.  _Forgive my petty vengeances, my Lord, but she had this coming._    
  
"Wake up, Lestrange," she murmured, placing her hand on his chest and burning away the jinx. "You'll want to be with your wife, no doubt."  
  
The words had barely left her mouth when Bellatrix's scream of pain echoed over the grounds.  
  
"…Or maybe not."   
  
  
  
  
Wraith escorted Rodolphus back into the Manor, leading him to the parlor. Bellatrix's screams had subsided, so Wraith supposed that she had been punished enough. Entering the parlor once more, she was unsurprised to see Bellatrix gasping on the floor, a line of blood at the corner of her mouth. Glancing over quickly, Wraith saw that Lucius was still prone.  
  
Voldemort lifted his eyes from Bellatrix to look between Wraith and Rodolphus. "Care to share in your wife's punishment, Rodolphus?" Voldemort asked.  
  
The man shook his head, his eyes wide with fear.   
  
"Then remove her from my sight."  
  
Rodolphus hurried forward and gathered his wife into his arms, lifting her from the ground and carrying her from the room.   
  
Wraith slowly edged into the room, not entirely sure that the Dark Lord's temper had abated. Voldemort glanced around and saw that one of things he had destroyed was his chair. He scowled, but before he could act upon his anger further, the ashes of the chair swirled in the air before him and rebuilt itself. Wraith flicked a hand around the room, and the marks of destruction vanished, though she rebuilt no more furniture.  
  
"My Lord…?" She gestured to where Lucius lay.   
  
Voldemort looked over and his scowl deepened. "Revive him."  
  
Wraith knelt beside Lucius, wiping blood from his face as she released an edge of power into him. His eyes slowly opened, clouded and confused. Wraith did not smile, but she felt relieved nonetheless. She stood again, offering a hand to help him up as well. He took it and climbed to his feet slowly.   
  
"Was he caught?" he asked her in an undertone.  
  
Wraith shook her head and Lucius closed his eyes.  
  
"You are dismissed, Malfoy," Voldemort said, his voice cold.  
  
Lucius winced and bowed quickly as he edged from the room.  
  
Alone with him, Wraith approached the Dark Lord, her eyes locked onto his. When she was close enough, she reached out to brush ash from his shoulder.   
  
"Shall I go after him now?"  
  
"No," Voldemort told her, the last of his temper fading to nothing as his thoughts turned calculating. "It's not worth wasting your power over. Did he ever see you here?"  
  
"Yes," Wraith replied, "When he was brought it––and last week when I called Fenrir off of him."  
  
"Pack whatever you have here," Voldemort ordered. "I'm taking you somewhere else."  
  
Wraith tilted her head, curious. "Where, my Lord?"  
  
"Where you belong," Voldemort replied, running a hand over her hair. "I'm taking you home.  
  
  
  
  
Wraith climbed the staircase, intending at first to do as her Lord had ordered and gather her few possessions. As she walked with deliberate haste, her mind whirled.   
  
"Home," she whispered as she reached the landing. She stopped, one hand upon the railing. The word tasted strange to her. With a sudden realization, she lifted her head and gazed around the Manor.  _This was never home––never once. Will the next place be what this never could?_  
  
Without really thinking about it, she walked past her own door to that of the Malfoys'. She knocked softly, not entirely sure of why she was disturbing them.   
  
The door cracked open barely an inch and Wraith saw Narcissa's pale eyes peering out.   
  
"Narcissa," she began, "I…The Dark Lord is taking me away from here."  
  
Narcissa opened the door a little further and Lucius came up behind her. "You…" Narcissa hesitated, "You're leaving? Why?"  
  
"…The prisoner saw me here," Wraith said. "I don't think that the Dark Lord wants our enemies to know where I am."  
  
"When––" Lucius broke off, frowning.   
  
"Soon," Wraith said, answering the unfinished question, "Tonight." She paused, "…I wanted to say goodbye." Even as the words left her mouth, she realized that she spoke the truth.   
  
Lucius stepped past his wife and opened the door so that he could step out into the hall. "…You've done a great deal for us," he said slowly. "Why?"  
  
Wraith lifted her head to meet his eyes. "Do you want a kind answer or the truth?"  
  
"The truth, if you please."  
  
"The truth is…that I was grateful you accepted me into your house as well as you did…" She glanced at Narcissa. "And I am grateful still for the music lessons…and I pitied you."   
  
Lucius winced, but it was the answer he expected. "Thank you, for my son, my wife, my wand. We….we will…"  
  
"Don't say that you'll miss me," Wraith told him with a twist of a smile. "All this truth is refreshing. Let's not muddle it with a grand and kindly lie." Her eyes sparkled with humor.   
  
Lucius smiled despite himself. He could think of nothing more to say to her––so he bowed, low and respectful. It threw Wraith and she glanced away rather than say anything.   
  
Narcissa offered her hand and Wraith hesitantly took it. The two women met eyes for a long moment.  _Fae child, I wonder what will become of you. How long before that generous heart of yours breaks?_  
  
"You should take some of that music with you," Narcissa told her firmly. "It will only gather dust here after all."   
  
"Thank you," Wraith murmured. She let go of Narcissa's hand and pressed her own against her heart. "Tell Draco I said goodbye?" she asked. Narcissa nodded mutely. Wraith smiled just slightly. "…You'll have your house back now…maybe it will become your home again."


	29. The Serpent's Lair

_"Before me things create were none, save things  
Eternal, and eternal I shall endure.  
All hope abandon, ye who enter here."_  
  
  
  
  
At the sight of the ancient and once grand building, Wraith felt her heart constrict in her chest. Her hand shook as she grabbed at the Dark Lord's arm.  
  
"Here?"  
  
Voldemort stopped and turned to her, lifting her face towards his. "A thousand years ago, my ancestor called this Manor home," he told her. He touched the chain around her neck and pulled the locket out from under her collar. The heavy gold seemed to double in weight when it fell against her heart again. "You should be honored."  
  
"But my Lord, I…what about what happened the last time I was here? What if it happens again?"  
  
"I told you before––it is harmless. You are sensitive to the old powers within its walls––that is all. Put it from your mind."  
  
Wraith fell silent and though her heart still pounded, she followed him once more to the threshold of Slytherin Manor. Before that final step, she drew in a deep breath. But as she stepped inside––nothing happened. She let out the breath and felt a touch of her apprehension lift from her shoulders.  
  
Voldemort glanced back at her. "Better?"  
  
Wraith nodded slowly, keeping a step behind him as he led her up a winding staircase. The higher they climbed the less derelict the interior became. It was clear that someone had been hard at work restoring the Manor to its former glory.  
  
The room that the Dark Lord took her to was at the top of one of the towers. It was circular, with four tall windows facing north, south, east, and west. The walls were cold dark stone, but hung with a number of tapestries that relieved much of the gloom.   
  
Wraith stepped inside, drinking in the room and the view from the windows. She ran a gentle hand over one of the tapestries, covered in dark red roses against a black and green background. Something of a smile came to her face as she looked back to the Dark Lord, who had remained in the doorway.  
  
"…It's beautiful," she murmured. "Was it like this a thousand years ago?"  
  
"It has been restored," Voldemort told her, entering the room. "But the design is the same. Do you like it?"  
  
There was a strange and heavy feeling in her chest as she stared up at the woven roses. "I think I do," she whispered.  
  
Voldemort came up behind her and placed a hand over hers upon the tapestry. "There is a maze outside the walls," he said quietly. "Do not enter it. It has been warped by magic over the centuries and it is likely to affect you as the Manor did––if not worse. Do you understand?"  
  
Wraith twisted her head to look up at him over her shoulder. "Yes, my Lord."  
  
"Good girl." He stepped back and gestured to the canopy bed across the room. "Get some rest, my pet," he ordered her. "You can explore your new home tomorrow."  
  
Wraith nodded, somewhat distractedly. "My Lord?" she called when he had reached the door.   
  
He turned back. "What?"  
  
"Who else lives here?"  
  
He was not surprised by the question. "Rowle, Wormtail––a few others come and go. Rowle is my guard for the prisoners below."  
  
"And you?"  
  
Voldemort smiled slightly, as if amused. "For the most part. I rarely remain in one place, after all––but yes, I consider this my home. It is only proper." He glanced at one of the windows and saw the edge of light at the horizon. "Go to bed."  
  
"Yes, my Lord."  
  
Voldemort stepped through the door, shutting it behind him.   
  
Wraith stepped away from the tapestry and walked a slow circle around the room, running her fingertips along the stone and the delicate fabric of each drapery that covered it. She stopped at the window that faced the east and stared out at the lightening sky beyond.  
  
 _I feel so strange_. She touched her forehead as if it suddenly ached and frowned.  _It's almost like I'm being suffocated––as if I'm not really alone._  
  
She wondered if the Manor was haunted. It was certainly old enough and had passed through many inhabitants over the centuries. It unnerved her––but at the same time, she felt peculiarly at home in the beautiful room. Then it struck her.  
  
 _I feel like I've come home––I feel as though I've been here a thousand times before…_  
  
She dropped her hand as her eyes caught her own reflection in the glass. Something was different––something was wrong. She stared into her own eyes…  
  
…Eyes of unbroken crystal blue.  
  
She jerked back with a gasp and turned away. Very carefully, she looked back. With a sigh of relief, she saw the strange, but familiar lines that crisscrossed within the blue of her eyes.   
  
But the odd feeling of peace had vanished completely. She shivered, crossing her arms tight over her pounding heart.   
  
"What is  _wrong_  with me?" she whispered aloud, suddenly struck by the silence of her surroundings. Still shaking, she climbed into the bed and crawled across the soft comforter to lay her head upon the pillows.   
  
 _Maybe I'm just tired_ , she thought desperately.  _Things will be better in the morning. I'll feel like myself again._  
  
She shut her eyes tightly, as if hoping she could shut out the nightmares that threatened.  
  
  
  
  
In the dim, pre-dawn light, Neville Longbottom hurried across the cobbled street of Diagon Alley, the hood of his cloak pulled over his face to hide it from those still littering the dark corners and doorways of the alley. He did not run, for he couldn't bring attention to himself, but he wished with all his heart that he dared to. Refuge was mere steps away––if things had not changed in the time since his capture.   
  
He paused briefly before the door, glancing at the dusty posters and merchandise in each window. It had been many months since Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes had been in business––but that did not mean that it wasn't still busy. He tapped his wand to the door and murmured the password under his breath, hoping that it was still the same. When the door swung open, he breathed a sigh of relief and slipped inside.   
  
The ground floor of the building was dark and had the feel of being abandoned, but Neville walked into the back of the shop and up the stairs without a glance around him. At the top of the stairs was another locked door. He lifted his hand and knocked twice. A hush fell over him as he waited.  
  
In the quiet, a soft voice inquired from the other side. "Password?"   
  
"Dumbledore's Army."   
  
The door opened and a hooded figure pointed a wand at Neville's chest. "State your name."   
  
"Neville Longbottom," he replied without a trace of nerves.   
  
The figure did not budge.   
  
Neville let out a breath of impatience, but continued. "Gryffindor House, hidden behind the portrait of the Fat Lady––Last year, I reorganized Dumbledore's Army to fight against Snape and the Carrows. I helped people escape when Hogwarts closed by leading them out through Ariana's portrait to the Hog's Head."  He held up his hands. "Is that enough?"   
  
The figure threw back their hood and grinned. "Had to check," Remus Lupin told him. He threw an arm around Neville and clapped him on the back. "It's good to see you, my boy," the former Defense Against the Dark Arts professor said, leading Neville inside. "When you didn't come back––well, we all feared the worst."   
  
They entered a large and crowded room. Every eye turned towards them and several people began to shout and cheer. Neville was surrounded for a few minutes by all those that wanted to hug him and congratulate him for making it back.   
  
But when Professor McGonagall entered the room, Neville excused himself to follow her back to her makeshift office.   
  
McGonagall smiled at him, ridiculously pleased to see him alive, but briskly got down to business. "Tell me what happened."  
  
"How long have I been gone?"   
  
"Just over a month," McGonagall replied.   
  
Neville nodded and began. "I got caught just outside the Leaky Cauldron," he explained. "It was Fenrir. I tried to hide and find a place to Disapparate without being noticed––but Fenrir sniffed me out before I got the chance. He nicked my wand and his group of Snatchers ganged up on me."   
  
"Where did they take you?"   
  
"The Malfoys' mansion," he said. "They locked me in the cellar. They were keeping me for Bellatrix Lestrange."   
  
McGonagall pales slightly. "How did you escape?"   
  
Here, Neville hesitated just slightly.   
  
 _"When you get out of here––we didn't have this conversation. Is that understood?"_    
  
"Bellatrix was careless," he said. "She'd brought down my wand to use against me. When she hit me with the Cruciatus Curse, she loosened my chains so she could watch me squirm. I managed to get it from her pocket. I fought my way out." He rubbed his forehead as a headache took him. "I took a twisted route here––just in case I was followed. I don't think I was though."   
  
"I'm very proud of you, Neville," McGonagall told him, taking him by surprise. She placed a hand on his shoulder. "You go and get some rest. I'm sure you need it."   
  
"Thanks, Professor," he said gratefully.   
  
He left her office, heading for the bunk room. But halfway down the hall, he was stopped by a hand on his arm. He turned, frowning, to see the Order's lone Slytherin member.   
  
He didn't know Clara Bauman well. For all he knew, she had only joined the Order of the Phoenix because her best friend from school had.   
  
"Longbottom, right?"   
  
Neville nodded cautiously. "Yeah. What is it?"   
  
Clara bit her lip. "Can I ask you a question?"   
  
"Sure."   
  
"You were a prisoner for a while, right?" When Neville nodded again, she rushed on, "Did you ever see  _her_?"   
  
Neville felt a touch of unease. "Her?"   
  
"The Wraith," Clara said quietly.   
  
Neville hesitated. "A couple of times," he said at last. "Why?"   
  
"Did she ever talk to you?"   
  
Neville didn't answer, but Clara read the truth in his eyes.   
  
"I've met her too," she explained. "Look, I just want to know if I'm the only one who felt it––was she what you expected?"   
  
"No," Neville confessed. "No, she was different."   
  
Clara sighed and smiled slightly. "I knew it."   
  
"She didn't want to be there," Neville said slowly, almost talking to himself.   
  
"I want to bring her to our side," Clara told him. "If we get the chance––will you help me?"   
  
"Yeah," Neville said after a moment's thought.   
  
 _"I do as my Lord bids. I cannot do otherwise."_     
  
"…But I don't know if we'll get that chance," he added almost sadly.


	30. Choice

_The only way most people recognize their limits is by trespassing on them._  
  
  
  
  
The sun had barely set when a small and familiar owl tapped at Wraith's east window. She sat up in her bed, unsure at first of what the sound was, and glanced at the window. Seeing the owl, she immediately rushed to open the window and take the letter tied to the bird's leg. As she tore open the envelope, she conjured a bowl of water for the owl to drink from. She opened the letter and read quickly.  
  
 _Little ghost, where have you gone? The Lady Malfoy was quite firm with me when I arrived at her doorstep last night and asked for you. Have you fallen off the edge of the world, my lovely one? Love, Janesch._  
  
Wraith set the letter aside to write her reply, but paused in reaching for ink as something occurred to her. Would Janesch be able to find Slytherin Manor at all? Surely the Dark Lord would have protections around it to prevent strangers from stumbling upon it. So in the midst of putting quill to paper, Wraith changed what she was going to write.   
  
 _Janesch, I'll meet you at the Malfoys' gate and lead you. Wraith._  
  
She sent the owl off with her note and hurried downstairs as it flew off into the horizon. Wraith knew instinctively that the Dark Lord wasn't there at the Manor––and she also knew that he wouldn't like Janesch in his ancestral home. But even with the knowledge her intuition gave her, she chose to ignore it.   
  
As she reached the edge of the woods that surrounded Slytherin Manor and marked its boundaries she Disapparated, her mind set upon the wooden path that led to the Malfoys' home. She waited in the darkness near the gate, not wanting to announce her presence there to anyone within the Manor.   
  
A half an hour after her arrival, a shadowed figure came walking down the path towards her. Janesch grinned, her teeth flashing in the shadow. "Little ghost," he said, throwing his arms out to her.   
  
She stopped him by grabbing his wrists and gave him an arched look. "Evening, vampire," she replied. She pulled his arms down and released him. Smiling, she touched a hand to his cheek.  
  
From her the movement was significant. Janesch's playful grin softened to a true smile, "Everything alright,  _ma petit_?"  
  
"More or less," she told him softly. "Come, I'll show you my new home."   
  
She took his hands in her own and closed her eyes. Janesch felt the shadows around them press like weight against his skin and he closed his eyes as well.  
  
"You can open your eyes now, Jan."  
  
Janesch did as she said and found himself gazing up at the impressive structure before them. " _Mon Dieu_ ," he murmured. "What is this place?"  
  
"I think it's best if I don't tell you," Wraith said softly, touching a hand to his arm. "You'll like my room, I think."  
  
Janesch did indeed. Upon the sight of the circular tower room, he sighed in envy.   
  
"The view alone, I think I would kill for," he exclaimed, standing at the west window. "This is so much more than I thought it would be," he confessed. "Are you all alone here, little ghost?"  
  
"No," Wraith said, joining him at the window. "There are a few other Death Eaters––and the Dark Lord as well. But this place is so much larger than the Malfoys' home; I've not seen anyone since I came here two days ago."  
  
Janesch made a slight noise of disapproval, but said nothing aloud. He touched a careful hand to a tapestry depicting a forest and a herd of unicorn.   
  
"These––these are  _very_  old," he said softly, his eyes wide. "They're restored by magic, but… _Mon Dieu_ , little ghost, I think they must have been woven a thousand years ago."  
  
"That would fit," Wraith said, watching him walk around the room.  
  
He stopped at the fireplace that lay between the south and east windows. "Cozy," he said rather ironically, seeing as the mantle was carved with intricate and serpentine designs. "Do you like it here?"  
  
Wraith hesitated.   
  
"I don't know," she said at last. "It's…it is  _beautiful_  here, but…"  
  
Janesch crossed back to her. "But what, love?"  
  
She looked out the window and saw clouds on the horizon, covering the stars. "I…I feel strange here," she confessed despite herself. She let out a weak laugh, turning her face away. "I'm sorry. I'm probably not making any sense. Never mind."  
  
"I think you don't put enough trust in your instincts," Janesch told her bluntly.  
  
Wraith turned back, surprised by his brusqueness.  
  
"Do you realize how often you second guess yourself, little ghost?" he asked her, tilting his head. He very gently touched her cheek. "Do yourself a favor––and close your eyes."  
  
Wraith frowned at him, but did as he told her.  
  
"Tell me what you feel."  
  
"Janesch…"  
  
"Just do it."  
  
Wraith's frown faded as she concentrated.   
  
"…Smothered," she whispered. "I feel like I'm being suffocated, slowly. It's as though the air is harder to breathe here." Her eyes fluttered open, focusing on nothing. "The past two nights…I've had these dreams…I can never remember them in the morning, but I wake up feeling…lost."  
  
Janesch dropped his hand and their eyes met.  
  
"…The Dark Lord has said that I'm sensitive to the old magicks here," she said softly.  
  
Janesch frowned, but a little of the worry left his eyes. "It could be just that," he admitted. "But you aren't happy here, little ghost. You ought to tell him."  
  
Wraith stared up at him, her face blank.  
  
"Janesch, I'm not happy," she whispered. "The  _where_  has nothing to do with it."  
  
She turned and walked away from him, sitting on the edge of her bed and drawing her knees up to her chest.   
  
"Wraith," Janesch murmured softly. He knelt beside the bed and took her hand in his. " _Ma petit_ , we live in a dark world, you and I. Happiness does not come easily––we must find it where we can."  
  
"Is that why you sought me out?" she asked him, smiling slightly.  
  
Janesch kissed the back of her hand. "Naturally. Isn't that why you fought your Lord for me?"  
  
She nodded and though her smile was weak, it remained. She hadn't realized how deeply her unhappiness went until she had spoken the words aloud. It was as if she had unlocked a door inside herself that had been firmly shut before.  
  
Janesch, still holding her hand, moved to sit next to her on the bed. Very softly, he spoke. "Once upon a time," he began, "there was a boy who lived in France. He loved the city, the culture that surrounded him, but his parents feared that the,  _ahem_ , decadent ways of the people would have an ill effect on him. He had a penchant for poetry, as many boys his age did then, but his parents encouraged him in it. They believed that if he had something with which to focus on, he would stay out of trouble."   
  
Janesch laughed fondly and continued. "One night, the boy wandered out in the middle of the night––another little something he had a penchant for––to gather 'inspiration' for his poetry. He entered a pub alive with energy and pleasure waiting to be found. He sat in a corner with his papers and drank in the force around him." Something in the vampire's voice tightened as he went on.   
  
"He remained there entirely too late, for it was nearly dawn when he left for home. As he made his way through the deserted streets, he felt a hand grab him and he was pulled into a stranger's home. He was thrown down into a chair and bound tightly to it. Before him stood a thin and very beautiful man…a man whose eyes held no humanity." Janesch sighed deeply.   
  
"'Write me a poem,' the man told him. 'Write a poem just for me and I'll let you live.' The boy hardly knew what to think. So the stranger wanted a poem? That was something the boy could deliver. He demanded that one hand be freed so he could write it and the man complied, even moving the chair over to a table for the boy.   
  
"In a matter of minutes, the boy had written a poem for the man with no humanity. It was a truthful and fearful poem, but the man delighted in it. 'Very well,' he told the boy, 'I will let you live.' ––And he smiled as he grabbed the boy's hair and pulled his head back, exposing his neck. The man slashed the boy's throat and drank of his blood. He drained the boy dry––and then cut his wrist and offered his own blood to the dying boy. The boy drank his fill, without even knowing why he did so.   
  
"Within the hour the boy was dead––and a vampire had risen in his place. 'You can run if you like,' the man told the young vampire, 'but dawn has come and if you step outside that door, you will die.' The young vampire wept and demanded to know why the man had lied to him. 'I said I would let you live,' the man told him, 'I did not say as what.'  
  
"––And so the young vampire remained with his murderer, in order to learn, in order to live."   
  
Silence fell, deep and terrible, between them.   
  
"Janesch…" Wraith murmured.   
  
"Sometimes our choices are taken from us," he told her firmly. "You've no choice in what you are, little ghost, it's all you know how to be. You were made a killer––as I was." He laughed again, but there was little humor to it. "And true, it is not the only option to us––but I want to live, so I kill––and you live to please your master…so you kill."   
  
Wraith closed her eyes, turning away.   
  
"I choose to not be ashamed of what I am," Janesch told her. "You can do the same."   
  
Wraith began to answer him, but stopped as she felt the Mark upon her arm burn suddenly. She hissed in surprise and held her arm up to see the Mark burned black against her pale skin.   
  
"He calls," she whispered.  
  
Janesch frowned. "Is that normal?" he asked, sensing the unease in her voice.   
  
"No," she said slowly. "No, usually he comes here to me."   
  
"Maybe he's simply letting you know he's arrived?"   
  
Wraith shook her head. "He doesn't need the Mark for that," she explained. She touched a hand to her temple. "I'm always aware of him, when he's close."   
  
She stood, and realized that she still held Janesch's hand. The vampire stood and brought her hand to his lips once more.   
  
"It's me again, isn't it,  _ma petit_?" he asked softly. "You're in trouble again…because of me."   
  
"I have to go," she said, rather than answering him. "You should too." She pulled her hand free and hurried to the door. But at the threshold, she paused. "Janesch…do you still write?"   
  
"No," Janesch told her simply. "Poetry was something the boy excelled at––not the vampire."   
  
A rush of sadness filled her eyes as she nodded in understanding.    
  
  
  
  
Wraith followed the call of the Mark to one of the other towers, one that spiraled up higher than the one she called her own. The room which she entered was dark, lit only by a massive fireplace at the opposite end. Once Wraith's eyes had adjusted to the dim light, she stared in wonder at the shelves that lined the walls, filled with books and scrolls of many ages. Caught by curiosity, she ventured towards one shelf and touched fingertips to the bindings of the books.   
  
"Rowle saw you leave."  
  
Wraith winced and turned towards the fireplace. The Dark Lord sat near it, a heavily laden table beside him. Without looking at her, he reached for a book and opened it. Wraith hesitantly approached him, but did not venture as close as normal would have allowed herself.  
  
Voldemort's inhuman red eyes found hers in the shadows. She felt a shiver run down her spine.  
  
"You brought the vampire here."  
  
Wraith drew in a shaking breathe. "Yes, my Lord, I did."   
  
"Here, to the home of my honored ancestor," Voldemort continued, his eyes narrowed. " _Why_?"  
  
"I wanted to see him," Wraith replied evenly.   
  
"You didn't think to ask my permission first?"  
  
"On the contrary, my Lord, I did think to," Wraith said, her own eyes narrowing as her temper flashed, bright and hot, within them. "I changed my mind because I knew what your answer would be." She held up a hand before he could speak. "And before you ask, my Lord–– _Yes_ , I am deliberately testing you now."    
  
Voldemort stood in a sudden movement and the fire roared behind him. "Are you? I did not believe you to be so foolish, my pet."   
  
"Janesch is my friend," Wraith said, her words terse. "This is my home now. Why shouldn't my friend be allowed?"  
  
"I do not care for your  _friend_."  
  
"Yes, I know. You would prefer it if I had no one else but you, my Lord," Wraith all but spat the words at him. Her hands clenched at her sides and her spine stiffened as she locked eyes with the Dark Lord. "But as I said before, my Lord, you are not always with me." Her tone softened slightly. "I have to have someone to talk to beside the walls." She let out a heated breathe, willing her temper to cool. "He does not know where he is," she said gently. "I did not tell him what this place was, only that I was staying here."  
  
Voldemort considered her for a long terse silence before he settled back down into his chair, book in hand. "If you must insist upon it," he said at last, "then he may visit you here. But continue as you have done––he must not know what this place is."   
  
"Yes, my Lord," Wraith said, her voice mild. "Thank you."  
  
Voldemort glanced at her one last time before he opened his book. "Come here, my pet."  
  
Wraith was quiet a moment before she answered. "…No, my Lord," she said, "I'd rather not."  
  
Voldemort slowly raised his eyes to where she still stood. "What did you say?" he asked in what was barely a whisper.  
  
Wraith did not blink. "I said no, my Lord," she repeated. "I do not feel like being your pet tonight."   
  
She turned on her heel before he could react and was halfway to the door before she felt his hand upon her arm. Voldemort grabbed her arm in a viselike grip and pulled her, throwing her back against the shelves hard enough to make them shake from the impact. Wraith shook herself, but kept her eyes upon his face, as if daring his anger further.  
  
"I do not recall giving you permission to leave," Voldemort murmured, tightening his grip and leaning close to her. His voice was low and dangerous.  
  
"Ought to be interesting," Wraith said quickly, her voice sharp.  
  
Voldemort's eyes narrowed. "What?"  
  
"When you decide to marry me off," Wraith replied, raising an eyebrow. "Oh, I'm sure you'll find a very tolerant husband, my Lord––but even the most tolerant of men don't like it when other men paw their wives."  
  
Voldemort jerked back in what could have been shock.   
  
Wraith took advantage of his surprise and pulled herself free. She all but ran to the door, slamming it behind her. On the stairs, she did run–– as fast as her feet would carry her. She ran until she had reached her own room and locked the door behind her. Breathing hard, she pressed a hand to the door and let her power flow across it, locking it against magic as well. Wraith turned and waved her hand at the room. The curtains on the four windows pulled themselves shut, blocking out the light of the moon.   
  
Janesch was already gone.   
  
Wraith sat on the edge of her bed, running her hands through her hair as she tried to calm her racing heart. She began to laugh almost silently, and very nearly hysterically.


	31. Pride

_"It is hard to fight an enemy who has outposts in your head."_  
  
  
  
  
Wraith remained in her bedroom throughout the night, unable to sleep for fear of letting down her guard. It wasn't until dawn touched the sky that she pulled back the curtain on the east window to watch the sun rise. She felt a strange sort of liberation in the light of morning. She smiled despite the fear she still felt.   
  
 _He won't be happy with me_ , she thought. But then her temper flashed through her once more.  _Let him be unhappy. I'm not happy with_  him _either._    
  
But even as she thought the words, she felt herself falter. She realized she felt vaguely heartsick beneath the blaze of her anger.  _Why am I doing this? I've never disobeyed him like this––not so directly._    
  
She stared out the window, trying to sort her strange feelings out, to judge just where they were coming from. It wasn't just her refusal to give up her lone friendship––there was more to it, something deeper that incensed her.   
  
She shivered in the darkness that still surrounded her. The fire had gone out hours ago and with the other curtains still drawn, there was only the small sliver of light from the rising sun.   
  
Wraith turned from the window and reached a hand out to something not visible to the naked eye. She grasped it, closing her eyes, and turned it. There was a soft noise of a lock coming undone. She pulled and then reached inside whatever it was. She drew out the heavy golden locket that the Dark Lord had given her months ago. Holding it in her palm, she opened her eyes to stare at it in the shadow. She grasped it tightly, moving back to the window.   
  
 _Will he forgive me for disobeying him like this?_  She wondered silently, watching the sun disappear behind the clouds that still filled the sky. The clouds were a dark gray, foreboding rain and wind to come.  _How stupid do I have to be to anger the only man who can_ hurt _me?_  
  
She frowned, turning away from the window to lean against the wall.  _The only one who can hurt me…so, why_  hasn't  _he hurt me?_    
  
Remembering her own sharp words and the complete absence of emotion in her Lord's face, she found herself stifling another smile.  _Mayhap he's still reeling from shock?_  Catching herself, she shook her head.  _What is_  wrong  _with me?_    
  
She pushed away from the wall and sat on her bed. She slipped the locket's chain around her neck.  _I need to sleep, if only for an hour_. She pulled the curtains of the bed closed and crawled up to her pillows. Despite her still whirling mind, exhaustion caught up with her the moment she closed her eyes. She fell into an uneasy sleep, still clutching the locket to her breast.   
  
  
  
  
In the early hours of the evening, Wraith felt him approach. She cowered in her bed, her eyes locked up the door. Though she knew he would not be able to get past her magicks, still she shivered.   
  
She heard the doorknob rattle once and her breathe caught.   
  
There was a muttered curse behind the door and then silence.   
  
Wraith quietly left her bed and crossed to the door, her arms wrapped tight over her heart. A moment later, she felt his awareness of her.   
  
"Wraith." His voice was flat and cold. "Open this door."   
  
She did not. Very slowly, she lifted her hand to the door, pressing it to the wood. She jumped when she heard and felt his fist slam against the door.  
  
" _Wraith_."   
  
She did not move, though her heart fluttered in her chest like a frightened bird.   
  
The Dark Lord's voice dropped low––she could barely hear him. "…I know you are there," he whispered harshly. "Open the door."   
  
"Am I wearing white for you, my Lord?"   
  
There was a moment of stunned silence.   
  
"No," Voldemort replied slowly. "Not tonight."   
  
"Then I'm not opening the door," she told him bluntly. "You may call upon your Lady Death, my Lord…but your Wraith does not wish to see you."   
  
The door beneath her hand grew hot and Wraith realized that he was trying to curse it open––or perhaps he had tried to reduce it to ashes.   
  
"I am your master!" Voldemort hissed at her through the still firmly locked door. "You will obey me or pay the price!"   
  
The door quite sudden opened. Wraith stood in the doorway, blocking his way. Caught off guard, Voldemort studied her, his eyes narrowed.   
  
"You are my master," Wraith conceded softly before her eyes hardened. "...That does not make me your dog."   
  
And the door slammed shut again.   
  
Voldemort's rage exploded from him in a hateful scream.   
  
Wraith choked on a painful cry as she suddenly fell to her knees. Her body began seizure as pain raked the veins beneath her skin. She tried to hold herself together, but a high scream of agony escaped her.   
  
The pain receded––Apparently he'd only wanted that scream, that single evidence of her suffering.   
  
She lay on the floor of her room, shivering from the weakening effects her punishment had left her with. She managed to lift her head to look at the door, waiting for the pain to return.   
  
But then she heard footsteps and felt the Dark Lord's presence withdraw.   
  
 _You can hurt me_ , she thought bitterly. But her bitterness was tainted with triumph.  _You can hurt me––but I still won._    
  
She climbed to her feet and crawled back into her bed, smiling just slightly even though she still felt so weak.   
  
  
  
  
"Forgive me for saying, my Lord, but…you seem distracted."   
  
Voldemort scowled, but said nothing in response to Snape's careful words. "Tell me of Hogsmeade," he ordered instead.   
  
Snape nodded, accepting a goblet of wine from a trembling house-elf. The two men met in the drawing room of Slytherin Manor, the fire their only light.   
  
"I have kept a watchful eye on the village, as you ordered, especially now that September approaches…but it has been quiet."   
  
Voldemort sat back understanding that Snape had not finished.   
  
"To be cliché, my Lord, it has been far  _too_  quiet. I would feel more at ease if there were  _something_  being done. I expected at least a half-hearted attempt at mischief at the very least."   
  
"It leaves us to wonder what they plan instead," Voldemort murmured.   
  
"The curfew has not been broken," Snape said. "Not once throughout the summer."   
  
"As you said," Voldemort muttered, his eyes narrowed, "Too quiet. Could they be moving during the day?"   
  
"Not that I have seen, my Lord."   
  
Voldemort was silent, staring into the fire.   
  
Snape glanced around the room. "I am surprised, my Lord, that your Wraith is not here," he said mildly. "Is she well?"   
  
He noted with interest the Dark Lord's deep scowl.   
  
"She's sulking."   
  
"Ah." Snape chose his next words carefully. "Well, she is young…temperamental?"   
  
Voldemort's scowl deepened. "Indeed."   
  
 _An argument?_  Snape wondered silently.  _How does the girl dare?_  But what he had said held a ring of truth. It was easy to forget how young the Wraith really was.   
  
Voldemort turned suddenly in his chair, his head cocked as if listening to something Snape could not hear.   
  
"She's moving," the Dark Lord murmured. "Either she's coming down to apologize…or she'll disappear to further test my patience."   
  
Snape held his tongue, but his mind whirled.   
  
"And…she's gone," Voldemort all but whispered. He sneered and sat back again. "At least I can say I know her that much."   
  
"Are you always so aware of her movements, my Lord?"   
  
"Only when she is close," Voldemort replied. "As she is aware of me."   
  
"May I ask what the child is sulking about?"   
  
"Might as well ask why the sky is blue," Voldemort muttered irritably. "Her pride has been piqued."   
  
"I see," Snape said, though he wasn't quite sure that he did. "Where do you suppose she's gone?"   
  
"No doubt to see that vampire again," Voldemort replied, his voice low and aggravated.   
  
"Vivaldi," Snape said thoughtfully. "He seems to be quite the troublemaker, even for a vampire."   
  
"There are times when I believe she only pursues the friendship to irritate me," Voldemort said. He smirked, his eyes suddenly thoughtful. "I don't know whether I want to flay her alive…or be impressed by her brazenness."   
  
"My Lord?"   
  
"The pride I do not mind," Voldemort said slowly. "It is only right for one of her bloodline…I think I rather enjoy the fire it brings to her eyes…but this disobedience must stop."   
  
"If it is her pride you battle, my Lord," Snape said warily, "then perhaps a truce must be found."   
  
"A truce," Voldemort repeated meditatively. "Hmph."


	32. Armistice

_"Nothing is easier than to denounce the evildoer; nothing is more difficult than to understand him."_  
  
  
  
  
Janesch collapsed on Wraith's bed, grinning ear to ear. Wraith gave him a dry look as she settled into what she always thought of as the Dark Lord's chair. Janesch's eyes followed her.   
  
"So…" he said, sitting up, "Are you going to tell me what happened? I would assume that it went better than expected, since you've brought me back."   
  
Wraith smiled rather sadly and shook her head. "You assume a great deal," she said softly.   
  
Janesch raised an eyebrow. "Oh?" He slipped off the bed and crossed the room to sit on the armrest of her chair. "Give it up, little ghost," he scolded, patting her head. "Tell me what went on last night."   
  
"We argued," she said shortly, "First about you––again––and my having brought you here." She smiled slightly. "I won that, seeing as he has given permission. But then…"   
  
"Then what?"   
  
"I kept arguing," Wraith all but whispered. "I don't even know why. I was so  _angry_  with him, with myself. I didn't want to stop. I didn't want to pretend that I was placated."   
  
Janesch blinked at her. "Well, as you've said before––your temper is a vicious thing."   
  
"But––"   
  
" _Qui_ , I know. You've never really been mad at  _him_ , have you? Or at least, you haven't  _let_  yourself become angry with him."   
  
Wraith was silent, tasting the truth of what he had said.   
  
"But tell me this, little ghost," Janesch added, leaning down closer to her. "Wasn't it  _fun_?"   
  
Wraith slowly smiled, despite herself, and nodded once.   
  
"I have spent this entire day locked up here in my room, for fear of him and his retribution–––but last night, as it happened?...Yes, it was fun."   
  
"You've got spine, little ghost," Janesch told her. "It doesn't hurt for  _him_  to know that. So what exactly did you say to him?"   
  
Wraith hesitated in her answer, for it was so much more complicated than the words she spoke.   
  
"You remembering me telling you that when he arrives, he always come here, to me?"   
  
Janesch nodded.   
  
"Most nights, he comes and sits here," She touched her hand to the chair they sat on, "beside the fire. I sit on the hearth or at his feet."   
  
"And?" Janesch prompted when her voice trailed off.   
  
"And nothing," Wraith said softly. "He stays with me. We keep each other company. It's nothing more than that." She smirked, but it wasn't a friendly expression. She got up and stood at the hearth. "He calls me his pet."   
  
Janesch grinned and made a scoffing sound. "But what did you say last night? Tell me, word for word,  _ma petit_ , please!"   
  
Wraith sighed, closing her eyes. She dutiful repeated her words from the night before, recalling with grim pleasure the look on the Dark Lord's face in reaction to them.   
  
"I managed to shock him, I think," she said after she had finished. "I left before he could say anything more. We've argued still and I've had a taste of punishment…" She walked over to the window, "…but I'm not going to apologize for anything I said or did."   
  
"Wait. Wait a moment," Janesch said, standing and looking a little shell-shocked. "What did you mean by 'marry you off'? What is that about?"  
  
Wraith shifted uncomfortably. "Future plans, vague ones at best," she said. "To preserve my bloodline."   
  
"Ah," Janesch's gaze seemed to sharpen. "Your… _pure_ …blood."   
  
"It's more than the purity of my blood," Wraith said, "It's the power." She held up her hand and a globe of pale blue light glittered above her palm. "This, my magic, is something my blood gives me."   
  
"And…does your Lord have a man picked for you?" There was a teasing tone to his voice, but it did dark and interesting things to his accent.   
  
"Ah, no," Wraith replied. "As I said, he has nothing but the vaguest plans concerning the matter." She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the window. "He said that he didn't want my blood to go to waste."   
  
"Hm."   
  
"What?" Wraith demanded, seeing the gleam in the vampire's eyes.   
  
"If your Lord is so keen to see your blood well spent––Why doesn't he marry you himself?"   
  
"I––wait, what?"   
  
"You heard me well enough, little ghost."   
  
Wraith gaped at him. "You are mad, Vivaldi. What put such a fool notion in that perverse head of yours?"   
  
Janesch shrugged, though he smile remained. "His jealousies. That flash in his eye at the dance you and I shared. The plain fact that you don't care to be touched much at all––unless it's his hand that does the touching."   
  
Wraith flushed slightly, her eyes narrowing. "You're twisting everything. It isn't like that, not at all."   
  
"Not yet," Janesch retorted. "But I imagine that your Lord has entertained the notion."   
  
"He wouldn't," Wraith said simply.   
  
"But the Dark Lord is proud," Janesch insisted, "Of his power and his heritage. Why wouldn't he want a woman like you to carry his heirs?"   
  
"It's not something that interests him. I'm certain."   
  
"Oh? What makes you so sure?"   
  
"Immortal men have no need for heirs."   
  
The teasing gleam was quite suddenly gone from Janesch's dark eyes.   
  
"There is no such thing as immortal," he said softly.   
  
Wraith felt her spine stiffen in indignation for her Lord. "You don't know as much as you claim to, Vivaldi," she said sharply.   
  
Janesch merely gazed at her. "Perhaps you are right,  _ma petit_." He cleared his throat and stood beside her at the window. "So you will not stay mad at him forever," he said, not looking at her. "What do you think will resolve your argument?"   
  
"I don't know," Wraith replied.   
  
"Will he listen to reason, do you think?"   
  
"Is there reason here?" she retorted.   
  
"It wouldn't hurt to reassure him," Janesch offered. "Tell him again, and tell him so that he believes you, that I am no threat to him. Especially not when it comes to you."   
  
"How do you propose I do that?" Wraith demanded. "I've already told him so."   
  
"You never let anyone as close as you let him," Janesch said. "Not even me. Point that out, make sure that he knows."   
  
He reached out slowly to tug on a lock of her hair. A sudden smile bloomed on his pale face. "You ought to let me play with this," he said jovially.   
  
Wraith stepped back, her eyes narrowed once more. "What do you mean 'play'?"   
  
Janesch's smile widened to a grin. "Trust me. Let me show you."  
  
  
  
  
Just after midnight, the Dark Lord climbed the tower stairs. At her door, he paused, almost certain that it would be locked as before. Indeed, when he tried the knob it would not turn. He scowled deeply and turned away.   
  
On the top step, however, he heard the door open. Turning back, he saw Wraith in the doorway, her face giving nothing away.   
  
"It wouldn't hurt for you to knock, you know," she said gently. "I've only the one room now and I was about to change for bed."   
  
She stepped back, silently inviting him to follow. After a moment, he did just that. She stood behind his chair, framed by the firelight, her hands clasping the back of it.   
  
"Are you still angry with me?" she asked as he closed the door.   
  
"Quite," he replied sharply.   
  
"Oh, good," she said dryly. "Then we're even." She smirked slightly as she patted the back of the chair. "Come and sit then, if you've a mind to." She started towards her bed.  
  
His hand lashed out as she came close and he grabbed the end of the intricate braid someone had made of her hair.   
  
"What is this?" he demanded.   
  
"Janesch was bored, I suppose," she said, pulling her hair free and tossing the braid over her shoulder.   
  
Voldemort's eyes narrowed. "The vampire did that?"   
  
"Yes," Wraith replied evenly, with a look to match it.   
  
"Take it out."   
  
It was an automatic reaction for her to reach up to do as he said. But she felt a buried flash of annoyance with herself and immediately lowered her hands. Sighing, she stepped around him.   
  
"In a moment," she said instead.   
  
She went to her bed and grabbed the snowy nightgown she'd placed there. After a moment's thought, she also reached for her dressing gown as well, silently cursing Janesch and his stupid assumptions for making her feel self-conscious.   
  
Voldemort sat in his chair as Wraith ducked behind a changing screen she'd conjured earlier. The Dark Lord brooded silently into the fire, listening for her telltale footstep. When it came a few minutes later, he turned his head just slightly, but did not take his eyes from the fire. He heard her sigh with impatience as she paused behind his chair. She came around it and into his line of sight.   
  
When he still did not lift his eyes to her, she leaned down, gently pressing her forehead to his, her unbound hair a veil around them.   
  
Voldemort stiffened at first, but then he found himself relaxing at the touch. He closed his eyes, drawing in her soft scent and the feel of her cool skin against his.   
  
"You have no reason to be jealous of the vampire," Wraith told him, her voice soft, but firm. "He is not going to steal me away. No one can take me from you." She brought a hand up to touch his face. "Only you can push me away, my Lord."   
  
He took hold of her wrist, his eyes opening just slightly and meeting hers.   
  
"Conniving little witch," he muttered, but there was a satisfied glint to his gaze.   
  
Wraith smirked and brushed her cheek against his. "I am not a witch."   
  
When she straightened, Voldemort released her. He noted that she did not deny the first as she had the second––but it did not matter really.  
  
"Do we forgive each other?" she asked him bluntly, crossing her arms.   
  
He looked up at her, considering. Neither would apologize for what was said––neither were sorry for their words––and yet––  
  
"I suppose we do."   
  
"Alright then," Wraith said, smiling slightly as her posture relaxed. She sat on the hearth, her eyes still on his face. "Though the next time you tell me to unbind my hair,  _you_  can redo it yourself. It took Janesch an hour to do that braid."   
  
"I prefer your hair down."   
  
Wraith tilted her head to one side, smiling. "Oh. Well, in that case…"   
  
Silence fell, but it was a contented one. Wraith shifted closer to the chair, but rather than resting her head on the armrest––she laid her cheek upon his knee. Voldemort paused momentarily before he began to stroke her hair idly, his eyes half-closed as he resumed staring into the fire. The weight upon his knee was strangely comfortable.   
  
"Where is Nagini?" Wraith asked after a time had passed. "I haven't seen her for weeks now."   
  
"She's guarding something for me," Voldemort told her. "Speaking of guarding," he added, touching his hand to the back of her neck and the golden chain there.   
  
Wraith sat up, one hand clasped around the locket. She wouldn't quite meet his eye. "I put it on this morning."   
  
"And why did you do that?"   
  
"I dislike being at odds with you," Wraith admitted with a slightly bitter smile. "It goes against my nature, after all. Wearing this made me feel a little better."   
  
"If you dislike it so, then why did you pick a fight?" he demanded.   
  
Wraith shrugged, but the Dark Lord caught the flash of fire in her eyes. "I've a conflicted nature, I suppose," Wraith said, idly twisting the locket in her hand. "My Lord you are and always will be…but you insulted me."   
  
"So I did," Voldemort said. He touched a hand beneath her chin and leaned down. "I doubt it will be the last time I do."   
  
Wraith smirked, her crystal eyes glittering. "Then I doubt it will be the last time we argue––my Lord."   
  
Voldemort smiled slowly, his eyes still locked with hers, mere inches apart. "Such a wicked tongue you've been gifted with, my pet."   
  
"I wouldn't indulge in it so much if you didn't enjoy it, my Lord."   
  
Voldemort made a low derisive sound and sat back. "Impertinent child."   
  
Wraith smiled benignly, but her eyes still glittered with dark humor.


	33. The Impasse

_"Doubt whom you will, but never yourself."_  
  
  
  
  
Snape bowed low to the Dark Lord, throwing back the hood of his cloak as he straightened. "My Lord."   
  
"Severus," Voldemort said, gesturing for the man to follow him into the Manor. "Punctual as always."   
  
He and Snape made their way up the winding stair of the Dark Lord's tower in silence. Voldemort pushed open his door, but paused just inside the doorway. Snape caught sight of the girl sitting across the Dark Lord's chair, her legs hanging over the armrest and a heavy book lying open in her lap.   
  
Wraith looked up and smiled just slightly.   
  
"My Wraith," Voldemort said lightly. "I'm afraid I must speak with Severus privately."   
  
"Yes, my Lord," Wraith replied, bowing her head as she closed the tome. She held the book up. "May I take this with me? I promise to return it."   
  
Voldemort nodded once. Wraith flashed a quick smile and stood in one fluid motion. She crossed the room, holding the book to her chest. She paused before the Dark Lord and bowed quickly before passing him by.   
  
But however small the gesture, Snape's sharp eyes did not miss the way the girl touched her hand to the Dark Lord's arm in her passing. It was a small, but intimate gesture that said more than it revealed.   
  
Snape cleared his throat after Wraith had closed the door behind her. "Everything mended then?" he asked.   
  
"More or less," Voldemort said, sitting in the chair the girl had just vacated.   
  
Snape sat in a smaller chair, his eyes on the Dark Lord's blank face. "Did the girl apologize for her impertinence…or was a truce found?"   
  
"I'd say it's more of a stalemate than a truce," Voldemort replied idly. "What do you have for me, Severus?"   
  
"I intercepted a letter going out from Hogsmeade yesterday," Snape began. "It was posted to Diagon Alley and while the contents were encrypted…I believe it was from one member of the Order to another. I've a sharper eye on Hogsmeade now and I hope to find the sender," he said, reaching into the pocket of his robes and pulling out a folded letter, "but I wanted to share the information with you now so that eyes may be put upon Diagon Alley."   
  
"We searched the Alley at the end of the coup of the Ministry," Voldemort said, glancing over the coded words. "Do you believe we missed something?"   
  
"No, my Lord," Snape replied, "I believe that they would have moved in afterwards."   
  
Voldemort nodded absentmindedly, still staring at the letter. "Have you decrypted this?"   
  
"The beginning of it," Snape said.   
  
Voldemort offered it back to him. "Finish it. Once we have that––and perhaps the sender––we shall see about Diagon Alley."   
  
  
  
  
Wraith walked at a slow, satisfied pace through the hall, still clutching the book to her chest. It had been a few days since she and the Dark Lord had found their level ground, but the rush she had felt at both challenging him and conciliating him had not faded.   
  
 _I wonder_ , she mused silently as she turned down a windowless corridor,  _what if Janesch is right? It wouldn't be so bad, would it?_  
  
It was ridiculous, she told herself. She was deluding herself, no matter what the vampire had said. The Dark Lord had no need of a wife. If he had, he would no doubt have chosen Bellatrix before the woman had been married off to Rodolphus all those years ago.   
  
 _He'll have someone picked for me already_ , she thought darkly.  _Just because he hasn't told me who he has in mind doesn't mean he hasn't chosen. But Janesch is right about_ one  _thing at least. I could wish for the Dark Lord to keep me for himself if only because he is only one I truly trust._  
  
Wraith paused halfway down the corridor, a cold chill running along the back of her neck. She frowned and turned to look behind her. Though she saw no one, she couldn't shake the feeling that she had heard someone's voice…   
  
"Hello?" she called to the shadows.   
  
The silence that surrounded her was deep and suffocating. She suddenly found it difficult to breathe. She closed her eyes and focused on the silence, waiting for something to break it.   
  
There! Had that been a breath or a sigh of someone just beyond her sight? She opened her eyes and held her breathe, but heard nothing more.   
  
"Hello?" she called again, her voice sharper. "Is someone there?"   
  
 _Milady._  
  
Wraith couldn't breathe. She hadn't imagined that, she couldn't have!   
  
"Who are you?" she demanded. "Who's there?" Her voice was weak and cracked with apprehension.   
  
It was barely a whisper that she'd heard, but she had no doubt that it was real. Wasn't it?   
  
She couldn't draw the breath to speak again. Her heart pounded weakly beneath her skin. …  
  
 _My…mine…_  
  
Wraith gasped for breath and the book clutched in her arms slipped and fell to the floor.   
  
It landed with a resounding thud, cracking the silence into pieces around her. Suddenly, Wraith found that she could breathe again without difficulty. She fell to her knees, reaching weakly for the book. She hated how her hands shook as she took it up again.   
  
Standing quickly, she changed her course from her tower to the staircase that would lead down to the entrance hall and the door. Passing by the drawing room and ignoring the stares of both Rowle and Wormtail at the doorway, she flung out a hand and pushed the heavy front doors open with an almost frantic thought.   
  
The night sky was overcast, hung with heavy clouds and mist, but Wraith ignored the chill of the air. It was far better than the heaviness the air within the Manor held.   
  
  
  
  
"What is the matter with you?"   
  
Wraith turned from the east window, eyes still clouded with thought. "What do you mean, my Lord?"   
  
Voldemort lifted himself from his chair and crossed to her. "Rowle told me that you ran from the Manor earlier this evening as if chased." He put a hand under her chin and lifted her face to his. "What were you running from, pet?"   
  
Wraith looked up at him and then lowered her eyes. She touched his hand before replying.   
  
"…It happened again. I…lost myself for a moment." Her brow furrowed as she turned away. "But it wasn't like before, not exactly."   
  
"Did you see something?" Voldemort demanded, his voice sharper than he realized himself.   
  
"No," Wraith said quickly. "I think I'd feel better if I had. No, I…I heard something…whispers." She looked back to him. "Could…could the Manor be haunted, my Lord?"   
  
"I've seen no sign of it," Voldemort said slowly. He touched a hand to the small of her back unconsciously. "But perhaps whatever spirits reside here are simply…timid. For all your power, you are still…a young girl––Far more tempting company than the rest of my Death Eaters."   
  
"If it is ghosts, I wish they'd leave me be," Wraith murmured. Suddenly, she smirked and glanced up at him, "'Tempting company, my Lord? Really?"   
  
Voldemort scowled and stepped back, moving towards his chair once more.   
  
She followed at something of a saunter, obviously highly amused. "Really? I don't think I've ever heard it phrased so."   
  
"Enough," Voldemort told her firmly.   
  
But she wasn't done just yet. She knelt beside the chair, folding her arms upon the armrest and smirking up at him.   
  
"Slip of the tongue perhaps, my Lord? You ought to be more careful, you know, there could be any number of ears at that door. You wouldn't want your Death Eaters to hear you talking like that."   
  
"And why would I care if they did?" he asked of her, his voice dry.   
  
"Well, I don't suppose you would," Wraith admitted. "But it would fuel those rumors."   
  
"Which ones do you refer to?"   
  
She looked up at him, her lips still twisted in a playful smirk. "The ones that claim we are closer than we are," she replied slowly. Whether she was testing him or herself, she did not know.  
  
"Ah," the Dark Lord said, touching her chin. " _Those_  rumors." He smiled slowly. "But how close do you suppose we are, my Wraith?"   
  
Wraith bit her tongue to keep silent. She returned his gaze, stare for stare, as the silence stretched between them.   
  
He leaned down closer to her, hovering just inches from her face. "…Imp."   
  
Her teeth flashed in a feral grin and she bit back a laugh. The Dark Lord sat back in his chair, satisfied.   
  
Wraith rolled her eyes and got to her feet, still grinning. She leaned down and briefly brushed her cheek against his before she straightened and turned away.   
  
"I'm going for a walk," she announced.   
  
"This late?" Voldemort said, watching her. "Why?"   
  
"I'm restless," Wraith replied, glancing over her shoulder at him. "I'm just going to walk around the grounds."   
  
"Do as you like."   
  
Wraith paused at the door, biting back a quaint retort, and lifted her eyes to the ceiling.   
  
"…You could come with me…if you'd a mind to."   
  
She smiled in triumph when she heard him stand and cross to the door where she stood.   
  
He reached over her to turn the doorknob. "Peculiar little thing," he murmured.   
  
She smirked over her shoulder and stepped through the door, trusting he would follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nearly everyone underestimates how powerful the touch of another person’s hand can be. The need to be touched is something so primal, so fundamentally a part of our existence as human beings that its true impact upon us can be difficult to put into words. That power doesn't necessarily have anything to do with sex, either. From the time we are infants, we learn to associate the touch of a human hand with safety, with comfort, with love. --excerpt from Dead Beat by Jim Butcher.


	34. Point in Time

_"What one knows is sometimes useful to forget."_  
  
  
  
  
A light mist covered the grounds of the Manor and the scent in the air promised rain, but these things did not seem to concern the pair that walked along the edge of the trees. Neither of them spoke, and the taller of the two wondered silently why he had followed the other in the first place. As the two came around to the front of the Manor grounds once more, he broke the silence.   
  
"You say you were restless," he said, coming to a stop. "Why do you suppose that is?"   
  
Wraith stopped as well, but several steps away from him. Looking back, she replied, "This place," she said simply, "When I am here I seem to have this inherent need to run away from it."   
  
"Do you often walk the grounds then?" he asked.   
  
"Not really," Wraith said. "Mostly I just ignore the feeling. Anyhow, I feel the same need here on the grounds as well, so in reality it does me no good."   
  
"Then what was the purpose of this?"   
  
She smirked and spun around to face him. Tilting her head, she considered him. "Does everything you do have to have a purpose?"   
  
"Generally yes," Voldemort told her, the edge in his voice betraying annoyance.   
  
She said nothing in response, but as she spun around again, Voldemort thought he saw the flash of humor in her eyes. She started to walk away, clearing intending to walk the course they'd just taken once more.   
  
Voldemort closed his eyes a moment, silently wishing for patience, and then fell into step beside her.   
  
"Tell me something true."   
  
The Dark Lord looked askance at the girl.   
  
"What are blabbering about now?"   
  
She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. "Tell me something that's true––about you."   
  
"Why?"   
  
"You wanted a purpose for this walk," she reminded him impishly.   
  
"Pick another subject," he told her dryly.   
  
She smirked. "Alright," she said amicably. "…Then tell me something true about  _me_ ––something that I don't know."   
  
Voldemort glanced at her, unsurprised to see her watching him closely. "Like what?"   
  
She shrugged, "Anything that comes to mind. You know a great deal more about me than I do, after all."   
  
The Dark Lord sighed edgily, but the girl continued to watch him, waiting for an answer. Finally, he looked at her again. "…You were born in August."   
  
Wraith blinked and then smiled softly. "Was I really?"   
  
"We don't have the exact date, but yes, you were born in August."   
  
"The month is close enough," Wraith said. "It's more than I ever had before."   
  
They walked in silence once again. Voldemort was almost puzzled by the smile on his Wraith's face.   
  
"When were you born?" she asked suddenly.   
  
Voldemort frowned at her, but decided that the answer did no harm. "New Year's eve," he told her.   
  
Again, she smiled. "You came to get me on New Year's Day," she reminded him.   
  
"I suppose I considered you a gift to myself," Voldemort said dryly, following her thought.   
  
"Ha," Wraith breathed, smirking.   
  
"Why don't you tell me something true?" Voldemort suggested lightly.   
  
"About me?"   
  
"Yes."   
  
Wraith's smile faltered slightly, but she forced it to remain.   
  
"I don't like it when you're gone," she said at last, coming to a stop.   
  
Voldemort turned to her, but said nothing. Wraith stared at him, her smile gone.   
  
Then she lowered her eyes and a hint of a smile returned. "But you already knew that."   
  
He nodded once, eyes still upon her face. "I take it, then, that you were eavesdropping on my conversation with Rowle last night."  
  
"Just the last part of it," Wraith admitted, lifting her eyes again. "You asked him to look after me when you're away––I don't need looking after."  
  
"I think that you and I will have to agree to disagree on that point," Voldemort said evenly.   
  
"Where are you planning to go?" she asked, crossing her arms.  
  
"Nowhere, as of yet," Voldemort replied.   
  
"Is there a reason I can't go with you when you  _do_  go?"  
  
"I travel alone," Voldemort snapped, his patience thin.   
  
Wraith closed her eyes, breathing deeply. "When are you planning to go?"  
  
"I've a number of things to settle here first," he told her. "I'm not leaving anytime soon."  
  
"Why are you going at all?"  
  
"There is something I seek," Voldemort said slowly. "That is all you need know."  
  
Wraith didn't open her eyes, asked no more questions. With another sigh, Voldemort stepped over to her, putting a hand under her chin and lifting her face. Reluctantly, she looked up at him, her mouth a thin line. Voldemort dropped his hand and offered his arm to her. She all but clung to it as they walked back up to the Manor.  
  
  
  
  
A couple of days later, Wraith woke at dawn as she often did, but she woke with a strange apprehensive feeling. She dressed quickly and immediately left the Manor, despite the fact that the sun had only just begun to rise over the trees. She wandered aimlessly in the early light at first, but then found herself strangely drawn to the very maze that her Dark Lord had warned her away from.   
  
The maze itself was tall; the dead and dry hedges that formed it rose several feet above her head. Scattered among the old brown foliage were the blackened remnants of red roses. Wraith reached a careful hand out and touched her fingertips to one such rose and felt it turn to dust beneath the gentle gesture.   
  
Remembering her Lord's words, she did not enter the maze, but she did circle it several times. Finally, feeling oddly weak, she sat on the grass near the maze's entrance. She drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them.  
  
It was there that Voldemort found her, several hours later. He looked from her to the maze entrance, frowning slightly. "Wraith," he said, looking to her again. He got no response. "… _pet_?"   
  
The slightest of smiles graced her face. "Sorry, my Lord," she said, lifting her eyes to him. "My mind was wandering."  
  
"Wraith, did you enter the maze?"  
  
"No, my Lord," Wraith replied, slowly shaking her head, "I…I just needed to sit down a moment…"  
  
"You've been out here for some time, my Wraith."  
  
She blinked. "Oh." The word was soft, barely spoken at all.  
  
Voldemort stepped closer to her, holding out a hand. "Come," he told her firmly. "Come away from there."  
  
Wraith took the offered hand and stood, following her Lord back inside the Manor. He took her up to his tower and all the way she moved like a puppet on a string. He sat her down on the hearth, in front of a warm fire. The girl was trembling slightly, but did not seem to notice.   
  
The Dark Lord considered her warily. "Wraith…are you alright?"  
  
She started to nod, but then stopped herself. "I don't know," she replied honestly. She looked up at him, frowning a little. "I feel odd," she confessed, "Like something's not quite right or…or something's about to happen."  
  
Voldemort sat in a low chair near the fire, watching her closely. "Have you felt this before? While you were in Azkaban, perhaps?"  
  
Wraith's eyes became a little sharper. "Y-yes," she said after a moment's thought. "Sometimes."   
  
Voldemort sat back. "Hm."  
  
"May…may I stay with you?" Wraith asked softly. "I don't want to be alone today. I don't think I should be."   
  
"You've yet to be in the way, my Wraith."  
  
Wraith tried to smile, but couldn't. She closed her eyes, still shivering.   
  
Voldemort held out his hand in a silent invitation. Wraith moved closer and laid her head upon his knee. The Dark Lord twined his long fingers through her hair, brushing it away from her forehead. He frowned, for her skin was warm to the touch rather than cool. It wasn't feverish…yet.   
  
"My head feels strange," Wraith murmured as he continued to stroke her hair.   
  
"Hm?" Voldemort looked down at her and brushed his hand over her forehead again. "How do you mean?"  
  
"It feels heavy," she told him. "It's been like that all morning. I think it's what woke me up in the first place." She smiled weakly, but it only lasted a moment. "Maybe I'm thinking too much."  
  
"It could be that we've been pushing you too hard," Voldemort said broodingly.   
  
"I don't think that's it," Wraith argued softly. "You never push me."  
  
"You'd never think to say so, pet," Voldemort reminded her, touching her cheek.   
  
Wraith closed her eyes, not answering him. Voldemort did not press her for a response. Instead, he closed his eyes as well, his mind turning over the condition she was in and what could have caused it. He did not like the only possibilities that surfaced.


	35. Nightmares

_"There are nights when the wolves are silent and only the moon howls."_  
  
  
  
  
The Dark Lord allowed Wraith to remain with him throughout the day; something that despite their closeness, he had never done before. As the day progressed, her stress seemed to abate little by little, but she confessed in the early hours of evening that the odd heavy feeling in her head never left her.   
  
When night finally fell, Voldemort broke the strange, peaceful silence that had fallen between them. "I have an appointment with Severus and Yaxley, pet."   
  
Wraith lifted her eyes from the fireplace, a twinge of apprehension in them. "You need me to leave." It wasn't a question––she knew the answer after all.   
  
Voldemort ran his hand over her hair and nodded. "Go up to your room, Wraith, and try to sleep," he told her. "When they are gone again, I will come to you."   
  
Wraith closed her eyes a moment before she stood. She started to bow, but then stopped herself, her eyes meeting his. "My Lord?"   
  
He stood as well and touched a hand under her chin. "You are not a chick that needs her mother hen, pet," he reminded her, his tone slightly acidic.   
  
His words had the desired effect, for her spine straightened even as her eyes narrowed to glare at him. Wraith pulled away from him with a hiss and turned on her heel. At the door, she paused, looking back at him quickly.   
  
"…I'll leave my door unlocked," she told him.   
  
Voldemort nodded once and Wraith slipped out without another sound.   
  
Shortly after she had taken her leave, someone else knocked on the door.   
  
"Enter."   
  
Snape pushed open the door and stepped inside, Yaxley at his heels. Both men bowed low as they stood before the Dark Lord.   
  
"Severus," Voldemort said, nodding his head in greeting. "You've finished decoding the letter?"   
  
"Yes, my Lord," Snape said, reaching into his cloak. He handed the Dark Lord two pieces of parchment––the original letter and his translation. Voldemort looked over the second parchment, his inhuman eyes scanning the page quickly. The letter itself seemed innocuous enough––it almost sounded like a letter from one lover to another––but its writer did mention the 'Order' and that could only mean the Order of the Phoenix. The writer mentioned McGonagall and something they called the 'Q. V.' as well.   
  
Voldemort looked to Snape. "'Q. V.'…do they refer to  _Questionable Virtue_?"   
  
Snape nodded shortly. "I believe so, my Lord. It would seem that whoever the letter was intended for  _worked_  at that… nightclub…before it burned down."   
  
Voldemort turned his eyes to Yaxley. "And as to this intended…?"   
  
Yaxley flushed uncomfortably. "Er…I've found nothing so far, my Lord. There is no increased traffic or suspicious characters within the Alley. I've found no trace or trail that would lead us anywhere."   
  
Voldemort's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Perhaps you are not looking hard enough, Yaxley," he said softly. "Here we have evidence that the Order has infiltrated Diagon Alley…" He held up the letter and its translation. "…With your skilled eyes, you ought to be able to lead us right to them."   
  
Yaxley swallowed and a light sheen of sweat appeared on his brow. "My Lord, I swear to you that I have been ever watchful––"   
  
"I do not need your excuses, Yaxley," Voldemort's voice snapped like a whip across the room. "Do better," he hissed softly. "I want the location of the Order's hideout before the week is out."   
  
Yaxley's face lost all color. "Y-yes, my Lord."   
  
"You are dismissed, Yaxley."   
  
Yaxley bowed low once more and glanced at Snape briefly. When Snape made no movement to leave as well, Yaxley felt a twinge of insult and dismissal. The broad man stood straight and left the room, leaving Voldemort and Snape alone.   
  
There was a moment of silence as the sound of Yaxley's footsteps faded away. Then Voldemort gestured for Snape to sit down across from him. "And have you located the sender?"   
  
"I confess, my Lord," Snape said slowly, "…I have not. The owl that I intercepted was one of the old school owls that still float around the grounds and no other letters have been sent."   
  
"Perhaps they suspect that their last has been intercepted."   
  
"It is a possibility, my Lord, unfortunately."   
  
Voldemort sighed impatiently and sat back, contemplating the fire. "The sender is not as important, truly," he said, his voice low. "But I do want them found."   
  
"I understand, my Lord," Snape said, bowing his head. "I apologize for my failure."   
  
"You have not failed yet," Voldemort told him, still looking into the fire. His eyes turned calculating, "…Could you copy the code used from the letter?" he asked, "to write one of your own?"   
  
Snape considered it carefully. "I believe I could," he said. His black eyes were sharper. "You wish me to set a trap for the sender, my Lord?"   
  
"Consider it an option," Voldemort told him. "If nothing else…"   
  
His voice cut off suddenly and he frowned deeply. Snape opened his mouth to ask what had bothered the Dark Lord––when a piercing scream echoed through the Manor.   
  
Voldemort stood in one swift motion and was at the door before Snape had realized what he was hearing.  _The girl_ , he realized as he belated followed the Dark Lord. The screams did not cease as both men hurried down one tower's winding stair and down the darkened halls. Whatever their cause, the cries chilled Snape to the bone as he ran. Her screams were high and frantic––it sounded as though she were being tortured.   
  
At the top of the second tower's stairs, Voldemort flung open the door and immediately crossed to the bed. Snape stopped in the doorway to catch his breath and assessed the sight before him.   
  
Wraith lay in her bed, her back arched and her body twisted as she screamed. As Snape watched, Voldemort reached for the girl, grabbing her shoulders and shaking her roughly.   
  
" _Wraith_ ," the Dark Lord called over the sound of her screamed. "Wake, girl,  _wake_!"   
  
It wasn't until he heard those words that Snape realized that Wraith was sleeping––and from her screams, she was trapped in a nightmare. Voldemort put a hand under the girl's head, ignoring the way her body writhed as she fought to escape whatever demons had come to haunt her mind. Voldemort inhaled deeply, drawing power as he did so. Wraith screamed again, but Snape heard the difference between them. The scream died suddenly and her eyes flew open.   
  
She lay still for a moment––and then scrambled up with a sharp cry, twisting away from the Dark Lord's touch. She pressed herself against the headboard of her bed, breathing as if she had run a great distance.   
  
Snape slowly edged into the room, his eyes on the Wraith's pale face. Her eyes were wide and unfocused and her face was covered in sweat; strands of black hair clung to the sides of her face. He approached the bed and conjured a handkerchief, holding it out to the girl. She flinched away from him as she had the Dark Lord.   
  
" _Don't_ ––" she snapped, her voice harsh from her screams. "––Don't touch me––just don't." She blinked rapidly and her eyes cleared a little. She was shaking horribly.   
  
Voldemort did not take his eyes from her. "Severus."   
  
"Yes, my Lord."   
  
"Leave."   
  
Snape bowed his head, stepping back even as he wished he could remain. "Yes, my Lord." Snape stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him.   
  
At the sound of the door, Wraith's head snapped around towards it. She blinked again and shook her head as if trying to clear it. A low sound escaped her and she pressed her hands to her face.   
  
"Wraith."   
  
She lifted her eyes to him, slowly, her body still shaking. He still sat on the edge of her bed, his eyes narrowed as he considered her. Wraith remembered how she had pulled away from him when she woke. She reached out for him, touching his arm as she moved closer. "I'm sorry," she whispered hoarsely. She pressed her cheek to his shoulder and tried to stop her trembling.   
  
Voldemort pulled back, touching a hand under her chin so he could examine her face. "You were screaming," he informed her.   
  
"…I had a nightmare," she whispered in reply.   
  
"A nightmare about what?"   
  
"…I don't know," she said, a note of panic in her voice. "I don't know––"   
  
"Enough." Voldemort moved his hand across her cheek and then up to her forehead. Her skin was almost hot to the touch and her lips were dry.   
  
Wraith shivered, hating that his hand fell away. "I feel cold," she murmured.   
  
"You're sweating, my Wraith," Voldemort said shortly.   
  
Wraith touched her brow, frowning as she felt the fever of her own skin. "Am…am I sick?" she asked weakly. "I didn't think I could get sick."   
  
Voldemort did not answer at first. "You'll be fine,' he said at last. He started to stand, but Wraith's hand shot out to grab his robes.   
  
"No!" she cried softly, desperately. "Don't leave me…don't leave me alone, please!"   
  
Voldemort considered her, seeing the panic still clear in her strange eyes. He tilted his head to one side as he thought––and then he sat back down.   
  
Wraith moved closer cautiously and reached out a hand. "Please," she whispered the word, almost inaudibly.   
  
Voldemort took her hand briefly to acknowledge his permission. Wraith let out a thankful breath and closed the distance between them. She laid her head gently against his shoulder and clung to the front of his robes. After a moment, she felt his arm come around her, stroking her hair.   
  
"So troublesome," she heard him murmur.   
  
"I'm sorry," she whispered again.   
  
Voldemort sighed and his hand fell still against her back, loosing holding her against him. "You're forgiven," he said, his voice laced with irony.   
  
Wraith smiled weakly, correctly interpreting his tone. "Thank you."   
  
Voldemort, in a strangely gentle way, pulled back once more. "Go back to sleep," he told her. "I'll return in a moment."   
  
"You'll stay?" she asked, surprised.   
  
"For a while."   
  
Wraith stared up at him a moment longer before she shifted back down under the covers. She laid her head upon her pillow, but did not close her eyes. Voldemort reached down and touched her cheek. Her skin was already cooler to the touch than it had been when she had woken. She closed her eyes at his touch and Voldemort stepped away from the bed, moving to the door.   
  
Snape waited at the bottom of the stairwell. "My Lord?" he said, bowing his head briefly. "Is the girl well?"   
  
"Well enough," the Dark Lord replied ambiguously. He seemed to hesitate, glancing back up the stairs. "Severus…what is today's date?"   
  
Snape blinked. "…Well, as of twenty minutes ago…the thirteenth of August, my Lord."   
  
"Ah," Voldemort looked satisfied. "I wonder…" he murmured, as if speaking to himself. He turned sharp eyes back to Snape. "Return to Hogwarts until I have new orders for you."   
  
"Yes, my Lord," Snape said, bowing low.   
  
After Snape had walked away, Voldemort slowly climbed the stairs back to his Wraith's room.


	36. Haunted

_One need not be a chamber to be haunted;  
One need not be a house;  
The brain has corridors surpassing  
Material place._  
  
  
  
  
Time passed by in relative calm and Wraith seemed to recover her strength. The aftermath of the nightmare left her edgy and nearly catatonic at different turns, but the heavy sense of apprehension never returned to her. She did not sleep well, often going the night without even closing her eyes, but eventually she returned to the habit of napping during the day to make up for the loss. She was unusually snappish despite it, her manner biting rather than her usual demur.  
  
But of the only two people who would dare comment on it––Janesch, she did not invite back to the Manor for weeks, avoiding his keen eyes in the wake of her nightmare––and Voldemort became…preoccupied elsewhere.   
  
Whatever the nightmare had stirred within her mind, her dislike of being touched had intensified, even when it came to the Dark Lord's touch. So she did not seem to be aware of his absence at first. But as the weeks passed, Wraith began to notice, for even after her fear abated slightly, he did not return to her room. Wraith knew that he was still residing within the Manor, but he was in places she had ventured to before. She was not keen to explore the interior of her 'home', not after her reaction to crossing the threshold that first time and entering the dungeons.   
  
 _Nor_ , she thought bitterly,  _my own room_. The reaction had been different, very much so, but the tower  _had_  affected her oddly nonetheless. Wraith knew, deep down, that the feeling of being home within the room was a false one and it continued to disturb her.   
  
The weather had only worsened in the last three weeks, the sky continually churning with dark clouds, the winds whipping the rain into bullets against her windows.   
  
Wraith had closed the heavy curtains on the windows and built up a strong fire against the cold, but nothing could stop the sound of the pounding rain. The hour was growing late, but she remained stubbornly by the fire.  _Where is he?_  She wondered silently, fighting a shiver. She felt a strange acute  _need_  for his presence, as she always did when she felt off-balance.   
  
As she debated whether or not she had the courage to try and find him, a strange sound came to her ears. She frowned and closed her eyes, focusing on it. The rain and whatever distance between distorted the sound, but Wraith came to realize that she could hear someone screaming below.   
  
The recognition froze her for one long horrible moment. The scream died away and her paralysis broke. She scrambled up from the hearth to the door and ran down the twisting steps of the tower. A second scream led her to the threshold of the dungeons, where she stopped cold.   
  
The cries rose from behind the door where she stood––and she felt the Dark Lord's presence below as well.   
  
Slowly, she reached for the door and pulled it open, willing her feet to move as she descended the stairs. As she drew closer to the source of the screaming, she heard words intermixed with the cries.   
  
"Please! Please, I–– _Ahh!_  No!  _No!_! I beg you, please!  _I don't know! I swear I don't know!_ "   
  
Wraith stopped at the bottom of the stairs, frozen once more as she heard the low murmur of her Lord's voice, though she could not make out the words. She remained there only a moment more before she turned and hurried back up the stairs, unable to hear anymore.   
  
 _I'd forgotten about the prisoners below_ , she thought bewilderedly as she ran down the hall to the front doors.  _He was trying to get something out of one of them_ …torturing  _it out of him_ …   
  
She threw open the doors and rushed out into the rain and swirling winds. She closed the doors sharply behind her and lifted her face to the dark sky. The cold wind seemed oddly soothing to her. She leaned back against the doors and slid down to sit on the stone steps. She remained there, the rain plastering her hair to her face and soaking her to the skin. Out in the storm itself, she could hear nothing but the rain and wind.   
  
"Wraith?"   
  
She heard her name being called over the wind and opened her eyes rather reluctantly. Her eyes immediately narrowed at the sight of Snape at the bottom of the stairs.   
  
"Evening, Severus," she replied mildly.   
  
He slowly climbed the stairs, frowning at her from beneath his cloak. "…What are you  _doing_  out here?"   
  
"Enjoying the weather," she retorted, her voice dry despite the fact that she was soaking wet. "You?"   
  
"The Dark Lord asked me to meet him," Snape answered, now standing over her. He seemed to hesitated, though his face showed nothing. "Come," he said at last, offering a hand to her. "You'll catch your death out here."   
  
"Unlikely," she said, not moving.   
  
Snape took a deep breath in an attempt to keep his temper. "In any case," he said at last, "you are in my way."   
  
Wraith slowly raised her eyes to his. "Am I?" Her voice was low, but he only just managed to make out the words. She lifted her hand and placed it in his gingerly. He helped her to her feet and she stood aside so that he could open the doors.   
  
But Snape hesitated once more, frowning down at their joined hands. "You're  _freezing_ ," he said incredulously. "How long have you been out here?"   
  
"It's not as bad as it seems," she said softly. "My skin is always a little colder than most…May I have my hand back?"   
  
Snape quickly released her. "My apologies," he mumbled.   
  
He opened the doors and gestured for her to enter. She swept past him without a backward glance, but lingered in the entrance hall. Snape removed his cloak and folded it over his arm as he considered her. She seemed to be listening for something, eyes closed and head tilted to the side.   
  
He cleared his throat, drawing her attention back to him. "As I mentioned before, I have a meeting with our Lord," he said, "Would you know where he is?"   
  
"I think that he's… otherwise occupied …right at this moment."   
  
Snape saw something in her eyes flicker as a painful screamed echoed up from the dungeons.   
  
"I see," Snape murmured softly. He glanced to the side and saw light from under the drawing room door. "I'll wait," he said evenly. "He'll expect me to."   
  
Snape entered the drawing room, unsurprised to see Rowle and Wormtail loitering within. "Rowle," he said as a way of greeting. The large blonde man nodded mutely to him from beside the fireplace. Wormtail sat in the corner of the room, wincing every time the prisoner below screamed.   
  
When Wraith entered the room on Snape's heel, both men paled visibly. She ignored them both with difficulty as she crossed to the fireplace. Rowle quickly backtracked to stand by the far wall, far from her. Snape wondered if he had imagined the flash of pain in her eyes, for it was gone before he could be sure of it. The girl sat on the hearth, soaking in the warmth of the fire as she had the cold of the rain.   
  
"Wormtail, go and fetch some tea," Snape ordered without glancing at the quivering man.   
  
Wormtail threw a glare in Snape's direction, but scuttled out of the room.   
  
"The Dark Lord call for you?" Rowle asked bluntly.   
  
"He did, yes," Snape replied.   
  
"Hmph."   
  
Silence fell between them until Wormtail returned carefully balancing a tray, which he placed upon the table near the fireplace.   
  
Snape poured a cup of tea and offered it to Wraith. She blinked at it and then shook her head.   
  
"Indulge me," Snape all but snapped at her. "You look as though you're about to fall over."   
  
Wraith's eyes narrowed, but she took the cup with a slight smirk.   
  
Out the window, the sky flashed with lightning, followed quickly by the rumbling of thunder. Wraith lifted her eyes to the doorway and Snape followed her gaze. Voldemort stepped into the drawing room, red eyes flashing between Snape and Wraith with vague interest.   
  
Snape stood and bowed before Rowle or Wormtail had even realized that the Dark Lord was there.   
  
"My Lord."   
  
"Severus," Voldemort said, nodding to him. The Dark Lord then looked back to Wraith, who stared back up at him. Voldemort noted her dripping hair and the way her dress clung to her thin arms. "My Wraith," he said slowly, "you look much like the ghost I named you."   
  
A small smile graced her pale face, but she said nothing.   
  
Thunder roared over them once more, shaking the glass of the windows. Voldemort gestured to Wraith, who slowly climbed to her feet and crossed the room to join him. "Come, Severus," the Dark Lord said, turning, "we've a few things to discuss."


	37. Tempted

_"The happiness of a man in this life does not consist in the absence but in the mastery of his passions."_  
  
  
  
  
Snape sat back in the chair, one hand rubbing his forehead as a headache threatened. "He's closing in on Diagon Alley," he said softly to the portrait above his head. "Days away from finding their hideout, I'm certain. Is there a way to pass a warning?"   
  
"An anonymous letter, perhaps?" Dumbledore suggested, "We could use one of the school owls, as Miss Jeffries did."   
  
Snape scowled. "That stupid girl. I'd have never offered the letter up if I thought it contained actual proof of the Order's presence in the Alley!"   
  
"You needed something, Severus," Dumbledore reminded him. "Voldemort had been watching you a little too closely."   
  
"I know," Snape spat the words out with a bitter taste in his mouth. He inhaled deeply and tapped a finger on the desk. "I'll send the letter. It cannot hurt."   
  
Dumbledore ran a hand down his long beard, watching Snape's face as he spoke. "What of the girl?" he asked. "Have you discovered anything of her past?"   
  
"She's doesn't seem to have one," Snape replied dryly. "No one seems to know for sure where she came from––where the Dark Lord found her––but…"   
  
"But you have suspicions, I take it?"   
  
"Several," Snape said. "And Azkaban is right at the top of the list."   
  
" _Azkaban_? Severus, she's only a child, for all of her power."   
  
"She has something of an aversion to a man named Dominic Gavin. From what I heard from Lucius, the Dark Lord ordered him away from his Wraith. Narcissa told me that the girl has a habit of calling Gavin her 'watcher'. Gavin was an overseer for the prison years ago––it wouldn't have been difficult for him to sneak the girl in and lock her away. It would explain a great many of the Wraith's… idiosyncrasies." Snape looked up to the portrait with a sharp eye. "And have  _you_  thought of what she could be?"   
  
"I don't know," Dumbledore said honestly. "Her powers…her weaknesses…I can think of nothing that shares them."   
  
"So, the Wraith remains an enigma."   
  
Snape frowned deeply and Dumbledore recognized the look of extreme concentration.   
  
"Severus? What is it?"   
  
"It might be nothing," Snape said slowly. "But…almost a month ago when I was reporting to the Dark Lord, we were interrupted."   
  
"By Wraith?"   
  
"By her screaming."   
  
"Screaming?" Dumbledore repeated incredulously.   
  
"Apparently it was a nightmare," Snape continued. "The Dark Lord woke her, but she claimed that she couldn't remember what the nightmare was about or why it made her scream so."   
  
"You don't believe her?"   
  
"I don't know," Snape said, shrugging lightly. "She's very hard to read, that girl. But those  _screams_ …It sounded like she was being tortured, Dumbledore. They weren't cries of fear, they were cries of  _pain_." He sighed, cradling his head in one hand. "It makes her past all the more intriguing."   
  
"And what of her present?" Dumbledore asked.   
  
"I fear that she is completely dependent on the Dark Lord…He has her wrapped around his finger and she  _knows_  it…but she doesn't seem to mind in the least. It's…disturbing."   
  
"But what is the difference between her and, oh say, Bellatrix?"   
  
"Bellatrix likes to pretend that while she was the Dark Lord's favorite, she was also all but his equal. The Wraith is nothing but subservient and _completely_  obedient."   
  
"And Bellatrix isn't?"   
  
"Not completely, no," Snape said, glancing up at the portrait again. "There have been times that she has argued with his orders. When the Wraith does so….she never does it in sight of our fellow Death Eaters. In public sight, she is his puppet, nothing but his killing hand." His voice dropped low as his thoughts darkened. "She is his perfect servant…It's almost as though he…  _designed_  her."   
  
  
  
  
It took her a moment to recognize that the tapping sound she heard was not the rain. Wraith lifted her eyes from the fire to the east window to see the owl frantically hovering at the glass.   
  
 _I know that owl_ , she realized as she stood and crossed to open the window.  _I expected him to write before this….perhaps he knows me better than I thought_. She let the owl inside, carrying it closer to the fire so that it could warm up before it flew back. As the owl ruffled its feathers by the fire, she opened the letter it had brought.   
  
  
 _Wraith,  
  
I have not wanted to make myself unwelcome, so I've kept my distance. But I'm afraid, little ghost, that I have never been that patient. Please write me back and tell me what is going on. Are you alright? Have you been hurt? Has your Lord forbidden you to contact me? I've had all of these thoughts race through my head and none of them are pleasant. Write me back, love.   
  
Janesch_  
    
  
Wraith closed her eyes and sighed deeply. She glanced at the owl and was unsurprised to see it gazing at her expectantly. She smiled slightly.   
  
"I suppose he told you to pester me until I answer, hm?"   
  
She sat on the edge of her bed and laid a clean piece of parchment upon the dresser. She thought carefully about how to word her reply.   
  
  
 _Janesch,  
  
We seem to be infected with distance. I have put distance between you and I…and the Dark Lord is keeping his distance from me. I'm not hurt and my Lord has forbidden nothing…but I'm not certain that I'm alright. I don't think I'm proper company right at this moment, but I promise that we'll visit soon. I'll explain what I can then.   
  
Wraith._   
  
  
She folded the letter and gestured for the owl. It flew across the room to land on her arm. She offered the letter and the owl took hold of the parchment in its beak.   
  
  
"You be careful," Wraith murmured, stroking the bird's feathered head, "flying in this weather, I mean."   
  
The owl bobbed its head as though in agreement before taking off and out the window once more. Wraith watched the owl disappear into the distance, ignoring the fact that she was letting the rain in.  _Damn. I should have asked Janesch the name of his owl._    
  
With a soft sigh, Wraith stepped back and closed the window, then pulled the heavy curtains down over it. Glancing over her shoulder, her eyes came to rest upon the chair in front of the fire.   
  
 _It's been almost a month now_ , she realized with a start.  _Distance…I think it's time to close that distance._  
  
  
  
  
When she ventured out of her room, she expected to follow the Dark Lord's presence to any one of the many places he had haunted the past few weeks. But when it led her to his tower, she was relieved. At his door, she hesitated, wondering if she should bother knocking.   
  
 _He knows where I am, just as I know where he is. But still, I did scold him on knocking at my door._    
  
She lifted a hand and rapped gently on the door. Nothing but silence followed. Wraith closed her eyes, felt a rush of rejection threaten her.   
  
With a sharp breath, her eyes snapped open and she reached for the door despite of the answer. Inside the tower, the light was dim, save for the space just before the fireplace. She did not see him in his chair beside the desk, but was rather surprised to see the desk piled high with heavy tomes and scattered scrolls. Glancing around, she realized that many of the bookshelves were in a state of slight disarray.   
  
A soft sound brought her attention to the higher shelves and she froze when her eyes met the Dark Lord's. Voldemort peered down at her, his wand casting a pale light on the books before him.   
  
"Wraith."   
  
"My Lord," she whispered, staring up at him.   
  
"What are you doing here?" His voice held no invitation, no trace of warmth, but then…it never did.   
  
She steeled herself against it. "I came to see you," she replied simply. She tore her eyes from his to look around the room again. "…Are you looking for something, my Lord?" she asked, stepping closer to the desk. "Could I help you search?"   
  
"No," Voldemort told her.   
  
Wraith looked up at him again, quite ready to argue. But he wasn't looking at her anymore. His attention had gone back to the shelves and the books upon them. She frowned, feeling petulant. Stubbornly, she leaned back against the desk, crossing her arms. She heard him sigh.   
  
"It's late. Go back to bed."   
  
"I'm not tired," she argued, knowing full well that she sounded like a child––a  _bratty_  child at that. Ignoring the touch of embarrassment she felt, she hopped up to sit on the edge of the desk, making her intent to remain clear.   
  
She glanced over her shoulder at the various books and scrolls piled upon the desk. She reached for one of the scrolls, curious. Before she'd even had the chance to open it, she heard him snap from above.   
  
"Put that down."   
  
Her eyes narrowed and the hint of a smile twisted her lips.   
  
"…I've a better idea," she said, scroll still in hand. "…You come and get it."   
  
The silence that fell between them was heavy and felt rather dangerous to her. It felt like hours had passed when she finally heard him descend the thin twisting stairs down from the higher shelves. Her eyes followed him as he slowly crossed the room to her. His eyes seemed strangely luminous in the soft light of the fire and Wraith read very easily his irritation. She had the oddest feeling that it wasn't all directed at  _her_  though.   
  
He came to stop before her and held out his hand for scroll. Rather than hand it to him, she held it up to him. He reached out for it…  
  
…and she leaned back, holding the scroll out of his reach.   
  
He scowled and stepped even closer, reaching over her.   
  
"Why won't you let me help you?" she demanded of him suddenly, their faces inches apart.   
  
Voldemort's scowl became a snarl and he stepped back away from her. The flare of his anger shook her, but she pushed anyhow.   
  
"You're wearing yourself thin," she told him. "I can see it. Why not let me help you find…whatever it is you're looking for?"   
  
"I do not  _need_  your help," he snapped at her.   
  
"I'm offering it  _anyway_ ," she retorted, just as sharply.   
  
He loomed over her, eyes narrowed to slits. "I do not have the energy to play games with you tonight,  _pet_."   
  
"That's alright," she replied evenly, her smile becoming more pronounced. "I've enough energy for the both of us."   
  
His arm lashed out, trying for the scroll again, but once more she held it out of his reach.   
  
He put his face very close to hers and his voice was low when he spoke again, "You are a fool to anger me, pet, when I can so easily punish you."   
  
"Oh, I know," Wraith said softly, but she continued to smile as she called his bluff. "I'm mercilessly taking advantage of the fact that you need me strong right now."   
  
A muscle ticked just below his eye and he cursed under his breath. "And what makes you think  _that_?"   
  
"You are days––maybe hours––from finding the Order of the Phoenix's hideout in Diagon Alley," she reminded him ruthlessly. "You may not need my help here…but you'll need me then." She tilted her head to one side, her eyes glittering. "… _Won't_  you?"   
  
"Clever girl," the Dark Lord all but growled.   
  
Wraith looked at him and sighed lightly, her teasing air fading. "I can see the headache pounding behind your eyes," she said softly.   
  
"Pity you can't even help me with that, isn't it?"   
  
"That isn't my fault, so don't snap at me for it," she retorted. She gently placed the scroll back where she'd found it and lifted her hand to touch his face. "You know I'd help if I could."   
  
The touch of her skin was cool against his hollow cheek. He let out a breath and let his temper fade as her teasing had.   
  
Voldemort leaned closer, resting his hands on the desk to either side of her. He pressed his forehead to hers, the cold of her skin oddly soothing to his aching head. Wraith gently touched both of her hands to his temples, wishing her Lord's pain away though her wish did little good.   
  
"Feeling neglected, aren't you, pet?" he murmured, not opening his eyes.   
  
"Quite," she replied lightly, smiling again. "It's all your fault, you know. You've spoiled me terribly…"   
  
As her voice died away, the only sound that filled the tower was the crackling of the fire behind them. Several quiet and comfortable minutes passed, neither one of them moving nor speaking. Wraith smiled contentedly, unable to help herself.   
  
Slowly, the Dark Lord opened his eyes, meeting his Wraith's. One hand came up from the desk to touch the small of her back, drawing her slightly closer to him. His gaze was thoughtful––hers guarded––and again, neither of them moved.   
  
Wraith dropped her hands from his face to his shoulders as her eyes flickered down his face and back up again, but she dared not voice her questions. On an impulse, she tilted her head up and leaned just a little closer…making the invitation clear if he only wanted to take it.   
  
"My Lord!  _My Lord_!!"   
  
Wraith flinched at the sudden shout and the fist pounding at the door. Voldemort scowled and Wraith felt his hand press tighter against her back, his fingers digging into her skin a little.   
  
"Ow," she mumbled as both of their gazes turned towards the door. She smirked slightly as she looked over his shoulder. "Are you going to answer him?" she asked, her lips close to his ear. "You never know…it could be good news."   
  
Voldemort frowned, but he stepped back from her, turning towards the door. "Enter," he snapped.   
  
The door burst open to reveal Rowle, with Wormtail quick on his heels.   
  
"My Lord," Rowle said, quickly bowing, his breath ragged. "McGonagall's been sighted, my Lord,  _in Diagon Alley_! We've found them!"   
  
Voldemort's eyes widened slightly and he smiled darkly as he glanced back over his shoulder.   
  
Wraith smirked, "Told you it might be good news."


	38. Battle of Diagon Alley I

_"You may not be interested in war, but war is interested in you."_  
  
  
  
  
"I won't be able to kill everyone I meet, you know."   
  
Voldemort looked to the doorway of his tower, eyes narrowed. His Wraith stood there in an inverse of her usual array as Lady Death. Rather than her habitual black dress and white bodice, her  _dress_  was a snowy white offset with a deep black bodice.   
  
When she knew she had his attention, she stepped closer. "It would drain me too quickly, my Lord, and would be a waste of magic."   
  
"You have an alternative?"   
  
"Sleep is easier," she replied with a slight smile. "The body wants to sleep more than it wants to die. I could render my opponents unconscious."   
  
The Dark Lord silently considered the suggestion. Then he smiled. It wasn't a kind expression. "It would make it far simpler to take prisoners and as a whole that is what I'd prefer. The more people I take alive, the more chances I have to locate other hideouts for the Order." He gestured to her to step forward. "You've a sharp mind when you employ it, my Wraith."   
  
She approached him, a cautious air to her movements. When she was within reach, Voldemort touched a hand to her hair. Her wariness did not escape his attention in the slightest. For whatever reason, it both irritated and intrigued him.   
  
Before he could speak again, a movement in the doorway caught their attention. Snape glanced between them as he bowed to the Dark Lord.  
  
"Severus," Voldemort said, turning towards the man. "Are they prepared?"   
  
"As much as they are able, my Lord," Snape said.   
  
Wraith looked over at him for a second before she stepped behind the Dark Lord. As she had hours before, she jumped up to sit on the edge of the desk. The way she casually swung her legs made her small frame seem all the more childlike and made Snape blink at her. When their eyes met, he raised a questioning eyebrow. His reply was a rather scathing glare from beneath half-closed eyes.   
  
"The building we seek, my Lord, belongs to a pair of the Weasleys," Snape said, turning his attention back to Voldemort. "Until half a year ago, it was a–– _ahem_ ––joke shop."   
  
Voldemort scowled, "I know which one you mean." He glanced out the window at the dark sky. "Morning isn't that far off. Go back downstairs and tell them we're leaving."   
  
Snape bowed his head. "Yes, my Lord." He nodded briefly to Wraith, who ignored the gesture.   
  
When Snape had gone, Voldemort looked over his shoulder at his Wraith. "Time to play, pet."  
  
  
  
  
It was only an hour before dawn when they arrived in the Alley, each garbed in their black cloaks and white masks. The street was completely deserted, not even the wandless were about in the doorways. It was quiet enough that the Dark Lord could hear each of his followers breathe behind him.   
  
One figure near the front of them stood out like a ghost in her white dress beneath the black of her cloak. It was she that stepped forward to place a cautioning hand upon their Lord's arm.   
  
He paused and the entire group came to a stop behind them. Behind her mask, Wraith's eyes scanned the street before them. Without speaking, she suddenly rushed forward, reaching a hand out to grab something in midair.   
  
Her hand closed around a nearly invisible arm and its owner pulled back with a strangled cry of surprise. The wizard's Disillusionment charm fell away, as did the charms on the other four behind him. He brought up his wand, but Wraith had already touched a hand to his heart.   
  
He fell like a puppet whose strings had been cut.   
  
The Dark Lord gestured to his followers and four of them broke from the group, aiming Stunning spells at the four wizards acting as guards.   
  
As each of them fell in a flash of red light, Wraith knelt beside the one she had dispatched. She felt for the pulse at his neck and smiled slightly when she found it beating strong. She straightened as she felt the Dark Lord come up behind her.   
  
"How did you know?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.   
  
"I felt enchantment right in the middle of the street," she replied. "It didn't make sense…unless it was an illusion."   
  
Voldemort's eyes narrowed as a satisfied smile came to his snake-like face. "Good girl," he murmured. He turned his attention back down the street.   
  
The Death Eaters slowly made their way down the Alley once more, a little more caution in their step. A few yards from their intended target, they came to a stop once more. Each wizard took out their wand and pointed it at the doors.   
  
Again, Wraith stepped forward, silent as a ghost. Though her mask hid it, she closed her eyes and frowned in concentration. Then she cocked her head as if listening to a sound only she could hear. She lifted a hand towards the door––  
  
––and then spun around in the opposite direction, sending a blast of magic across the street.   
  
The blast broke apart the illusion that the Order of the Phoenix hid behind, leaving them stunned and exposed.   
  
McGonagall, in the front of the group, recovered first. She held her wand aloft and shouted to the others. " _For Dumbledore! Go_!"   
  
And the Battle of Diagon Alley began.   
  
  
  
  
The Order outnumbered the Death Eaters there, but they had lost their element of surprise and it obviously threw them. The two opposing forces meshed in the center of the street and curses flew between them.   
  
Wraith flitted in and out between those fighting, moving like bird as she reached out to those of the Order. In her wake, witches and wizards fell unconscious without sound or flash.   
  
Near the edge of the battlefield the street had become, she reached to touch again, but her target moved faster than her and grabbed her wrist, pushing her back. She almost lost her balance and circled around, moving with more prudence.   
  
She circled around the wizard who had parried her, studying him as she had not done the others. He was tall with dark black skin, and moved with an almost feline grace as he too circled her. Wraith caught the flash of gold at his ear and noted the intelligence in his eyes.   
  
"You're quick," she told him with a quirk of a smile. She reached up and removed her mask. She could see her opponent's face––it was only fair that he see hers as well.   
  
"Thank you," he replied, his voice a low rumble.   
  
He held his wand between them, but Wraith only spared it a glance.   
  
"Haven't you heard the rumors?" she asked him, nodding to his wand. "That won't do you any good."   
  
"You'll forgive me if I don't take your word for it."   
  
Wraith's eyes crinkled with mirth as she began to circle closer. "May I know your name?" she asked then, noting that he was being careful not to let her close the distance between them.   
  
"Shacklebolt," he told her with the slightest of nods.   
  
"My name is Wraith," she told him in return. She nodded again to his wand. "Are you going to fight me, Shacklebolt, or just stare at me?"   
  
"You are a child," he murmured. "I wonder if you know what you do."   
  
The words––and the soft tone with which he spoke them––made Wraith pause.   
  
She smiled sadly as she replied. "I know what I do, Shacklebolt. I do as my Lord bids." She stopped circling him and he too stood still. "You're very careful not to let me touch you," Wraith said casually. "I'm impressed. But may I tell you a secret?"   
  
"What is it?"   
  
"I don't have to touch you."   
  
Kingsley Shacklebolt had time to blink at her before his eyes rolled back in his skull and he fell to the ground. Wraith knelt beside his fallen form.   
  
"You're good," she told him, though he could not hear, "but you've never dealt with the likes of me."   
  
A sudden yell caught her attention and she turned her head back to the battle. She saw a trio of redheaded wizards cornering two Death Eaters she recognized to be Snape and Rabastan Lestrange. With a grim smile, she pushed herself to her feet to join the fray.


	39. Battle of Diagon Alley II

_"It is well that war is so terrible - otherwise we would grow too fond of it."_  
  
  
  
  
By the time that Wraith had reached them, Rabastan had been hit with a Stunning spell and lay like a rag doll on the ground.   
  
Snape fired off several curses, catching one of his opponents, and the wizard fell as Rabastan had.   
  
"Charlie!" she heard one of the others shout. The one that had shouted aimed a Stunning curse at Snape and the older wizard wasn't quite fast enough. It would have hit––if Wraith hadn't deflected it.   
  
The curse hit the palm of her hand, causing no effect on her whatsoever. She grabbed Snape by the front of his robes and dragged him out of the firing range into a dark side-street. Another curse flew by their heads and chipped the stone of the building they'd hidden behind.   
  
" _That was for my brother's ear_!"   
  
Wraith blinked and gave Snape a curious look. "His brother's ear?"   
  
Snape winced, glancing around the corner and was almost hit by another curse. "I'll tell you later," he told her dismissively.   
  
"Oh, this I  _have_  to hear," Wraith said. She stepped around him so that she was closest to the street. "Try not to get yourself killed, Severus," she told him as she slipped back into the battle.   
  
Snape watched her go. "I'll do my best," he muttered acidly.   
  
Wraith moved quickly towards the two redheads that remained, willing herself not to be seen as she approached.   
  
"Come on, you coward!" the shorter of the two shouted towards the hiding place. "Come out and fight!"   
  
"Patience is a virtue," Wraith whispered in his ear.   
  
He jerked back with another shout, waving his wand wildly. Wraith moved back, making herself visible again. Her opponent gawked at her, but held his wand steady. He wasn't much taller than her, built on stocky lines, with bright red hair and a smattering of freckles across his face. As she took in his appearance, he too took in hers.   
  
Meeting her eyes, he swallowed. "You're the Wraith, aren't you?"   
  
Wraith widened her eyes and nodded slowly.   
  
"Lovely," he said, paling slightly, "Is it alright to be scared?"   
  
"Oh, I'd be disappointed if you weren't just a little."   
  
"Oh good," he said, "because I'm terrified."   
  
"It's not as bad as all that," she admonished with a small smile. "What's your name?"   
  
"Fred," he told her. "Fred Weasley."   
  
She nodded again and her smile became rather impish. "Come and play then, Fred."   
  
  
  
  
Snape stepped over the fallen form of Bill Weasley, his eyes upon the almost dancing form of Wraith as she played a mock duel with one of the Weasley twins.   
  
By the smile on her face, she was enjoying herself. Snape started to scowl, until he saw that the Weasley was grinning like a fool right back at her.   
  
 _Children playing at war_ , he thought bitterly.   
  
But it was strange to see an honest smile upon the girl's face. Thinking back, he realized how rare they really were. He was far more accustomed to the sardonic half-smile that so matched her Lord's.   
  
Smiling still, the Wraith dodged and weaved around the spells that the Weasley boy flung at her, as if she weren't immune to them at all. Snape's eyes narrowed and he ducked into an empty doorway.   
  
 _It wouldn't hurt to observe just how the Wraith chooses to fight her battles_ , he thought as he watched her.   
  
A Stunning curse just barely missed her as she twisted away with a short laugh.   
  
"You can do better than that," she told her adversary.   
  
"You're joking!" he wheezed in reply, coming to a stop to try and catch his breath.   
  
Snape waited––certain that the Wraith would take advantage of his weakness––but the girl stopped as well.   
  
"Come on, it's no fun if you don't try," she scolded him.   
  
Fred shook his head, sweat running down his face. "Don't know what you're talking about," he told her. "I'm having the time of my life here!" He leaned forward, resting his hands on his thighs as he fought for breath.   
  
Snape's eyes flickered to the side, where another Death Eater was approaching the two young ones.   
  
Wraith's eyes narrowed as she too caught sight of him and she hurried forward.   
  
"Sorry, Fred," she whispered.   
  
"Wha––?" It was all he had time to say before sleep overtook him.   
  
He slumped to the ground and Wraith cast a glare over her shoulder at the Death Eater before she disappeared into the crowd once more.   
  
 _That was…interesting_ , Snape decided.  _She was playing with him––like a cat with a mouse––But was she_  protecting  _him by ending it_? It had certainly  _seemed_  so, but that made no sense.   
  
 _God help us if Bauman is somewhere among this mess. How would the girl react to that?_  But it was unlikely that Clara Bauman would have remained to fight. Although not especially a coward, the girl was very fond of her own skin.   
  
 _What would the Wraith think if she knew the girl she'd helped was a member of the Order? She'd probably take the information straight to the Dark Lord…or_ would _she?_  
  
Snape scowled deeply as he entered the fray once more. He resented the fact that he couldn't predict the Wraith's reactions or emotions when he was usually so good at reading those he studied.   
  
A shot of red light passed a little too close to his head and Snape decided it would be prudent to return his focus to the battle at hand.   
  
  
  
  
Wraith moved quickly through the crowd, being careful not to engage her targets head on as she had Shacklebolt and Fred. While it was exceedingly fun to her, it still wasted time better spent on following her Lord's orders.   
  
But as she wrought her spell of sleep as she passed, she began to feel her power ebb.  _Too much too fast_ , she cursed herself silently. She would have to be careful––and pick her targets carefully.   
  
She moved to the edge of the fight and crouched in the shadows of a doorstop. Her eyes scanned the crowd, first looking for the Dark Lord among those that fought. When she found him near the center of the fray, calmly bringing down one of the Order in a flash of green light, she quickly turned her eyes away.   
  
 _Where's their leader_? She wondered suddenly as she searched the mob.  _That witch––McGonagall––The Dark Lord will want her alive. I should find her before one of the others kills her._  
  
Wraith slipped out into the street once more, still searching, and felt a strong curse hit her from behind. She winced and turned quickly, a hand outstretched towards the wizard who had thrown it at her. Her eyes met his briefly before he fell to the ground as all the others had.   
  
"So the rumors are true."   
  
Wraith turned towards the curious voice and shot him a smirk. "That depends entirely on which ones you're listening to," she told him.   
  
He smiled slightly and Wraith noted that he kept his distance. She began to circle him, trying to close that distance.   
  
"What's your name?" she asked him.   
  
"You don't need to know that," he said with a short laugh.   
  
"But I'm curious," she said with something of a pout.   
  
Her eyes narrowed as she noted the slightly frayed robes he wore and the streaks of early gray in his hair. Meeting his eyes once more, she found that something about him seemed familiar; though she was sure she had never met him before. Still curious, she reached out silently with her power, trying to read him.   
  
 _Never met him––but I've met his like_.   
  
She tilted her head to one side. "You hide it well."   
  
He started slightly and then stared at her. "What do you mean?"   
  
"I've met many a werewolf in these past few months," she told him plainly, "but you are the most human of them. I congratulate you."   
  
He smiled slightly and rather sadly. "Thank you…I think."   
  
"I didn't mean to be insulting," she said, straightening her stance. "Are you going to fight me?" she asked him.   
  
"Is there a point?"   
  
Her smirk returned. "Not really, no."   
  
She took a step towards him, but then heard someone shout from behind him–– " _Lupin, down_!"   
  
The wizard fell to the ground and Wraith felt something fly by her head. In hindsight she realized that it had been a short knife.   
  
She lifted a hand slowly to her face when she felt the stinging pain. She touched her fingers to her slashed cheek, taken aback when they came away with blood. Temper flashed through her unexpectedly as she looked to the one who had thrown the blade. She wasn't all that surprised to see McGonagall.   
  
"Clever," Wraith called tauntingly. She wiped the blood from her cheek to reveal the healed flesh. With the exception of the blood, there was no trace of the wound. "…But still not good enough."   
  
Lupin climbed cautiously to his feet and stepped to the side. He couldn't believe his eyes. He felt a tinge of worry for McGonagall, for the teasing gleam in the Wraith's eyes was quite suddenly gone.   
  
"Lupin, go," McGonagall ordered shortly as she approached. "I'll handle her."   
  
"Brash words," Wraith snapped.   
  
"Minerva," Lupin began.   
  
"Go, Remus," McGonagall repeated firmly, her eyes upon the Wraith. "Think of your son."   
  
Lupin winced and threw one last anxious look towards Wraith before he disappeared into the crowd. Wraith didn't bother to watch him go.   
  
"Do you always protect your people so?" she asked.   
  
"I try to."   
  
"Noble of you," Wraith said thoughtfully.   
  
"How many people have you killed tonight, Lady Death?" McGonagall demanded.   
  
The question stung, like salt upon a wound, but Wraith simply smiled. "Come then, Minerva," she called mockingly. "Let's see how well you protect them from the ground."


	40. Battle of Diagon Alley III

_"When bad men combine, the good must associate; else they will fall one by one, a pitiless sacrifice in a contemptible struggle."_  
  
  
  
  
Blood stained the white of Wraith's sleeve as another blade flew past. Wraith twisted back with a hiss of pain. The cut just below her shoulder was deeper than the one McGonagall had scored on her cheek, but within moments it too was gone.   
  
Wraith straightened as McGonagall conjured a third blade towards her. Wraith lifted a hand and the blade stopped in mid-air between them. She snapped her fingers and the blade turned, flying towards McGonagall instead. The blade vanished with a flick of McGonagall's wand. The two circled one another slowly now, watching and waiting.   
  
"Don't you have any other tricks?" Wraith demanded. "Or are you just going to keep throwing knives at me until I bleed to death?"   
  
"How did you know we weren't in the building?" McGonagall demanded.   
  
"How did you know we were coming?" Wraith countered.   
  
There was a flash of bright light and the street at Wraith's feet exploded. The girl fell back, landing hard on the ground several feet away. She quickly scrambled to her feet; wide eyes staring at the crater McGonagall's curse had created.   
  
 _She didn't aim for me_ , she realized.  _No, she_ deliberately  _cracked the street instead of me. She's sharp_. Wraith's eyes narrowed as they found McGonagall again.   
  
"Oh, you're  _good_ ," Wraith taunted, circling 'round her once more. "Much better than I expected––"   
  
Her voice cut off with a strangled cry as pain wracked her body. She stumbled backwards a few steps and stared down in amazement at the knife buried to the hilt in her stomach. Her hands shaking, she wrapped them around the hilt and pulled the knife free. Wraith dropped the knife to the ground and pressed a hand to the wound.   
  
McGonagall stared in something akin to horror as blood flowed from between the girl's fingers. Her own hand shaking slightly, McGonagall raised her wand, aiming for the girl's heart.   
  
Wraith feinted to the side, McGonagall's wand following her movement, before she dropped down to her knees to grab the knife back up again. She threw the knife frantically towards the witch. McGonagall gestured once and the knife disappeared.   
  
But the blade had served its purpose as a distraction. Wraith stood straight again, her wound gone.   
  
McGonagall's eyes widened when she saw the unmarred skin beneath the cut in Wraith's dress.   
  
"What  _are_  you?" McGonagall demanded, holding her wand up.   
  
Wraith smiled darkly and she laughed once. "That's a marvelous question," she said lightly. "I'll let you know if I ever find the answer."   
  
Once more, she feinted to one side before she swiftly changed directions. McGonagall felt something cut open her cheek and winced at the sudden pain.   
  
"Tit for tat, witch," Wraith called out. "Blood for blood."   
  
McGonagall took several quick steps back, her head whipping side to side. She couldn't see the Wraith anymore…where had the girl gone? She felt the slightest breeze at her ear.   
  
"To answer your first question––"   
  
McGonagall spun around and the ground cracked beneath Wraith's feet. The girl jumped back with a feral grin and disappeared again.   
  
"––I haven't killed anyone tonight."   
  
McGonagall twisted and a trio of blades flew towards the Wraith. The girl dodged them by an inch, still grinning.   
  
"You expect me to believe that!" McGonagall retorted dismissively.   
  
"Oh, but it's true," Wraith insisted, her eyes going wide.   
  
McGonagall was disturbed by how childlike she appeared. "Why then?" she asked, her voice low.   
  
"The Dark Lord wants you alive."   
  
McGonagall felt the words like a blow to her heart. A rope of fire burst from her wand, lashing out towards the Wraith. The girl stumbled backwards in surprise, but the fire caught the edge of her dress.   
  
Wraith cried out when the fire kissed at her ankles and quickly extinguished the flames. With the hem of her dress singed and blackened, she raised her eyes back to McGonagall's. The girl took one step forward––and then stopped.   
  
McGonagall blinked in confusion as the Wraith stepped  _back_ , her face as unreadable as a mask.   
  
"Sorry, Minerva," Wraith murmured, "but someone else wants to play."    
  
McGonagall saw the girl's eyes flicker briefly to a space just over her shoulder. It was all the warning she received.   
  
McGonagall turned, her wand pointed straight for the Dark Lord's heart. Voldemort deflected the curse easily, smiling just slightly as he approached.   
  
"Well done, my Wraith," he said without taking his snake-like eyes from McGonagall.   
  
"Thank you, my Lord," Wraith replied evenly. "Terrible luck you have, Minerva," she added to McGonagall.   
  
The witch spared her a glance, her eyes narrowed without understanding. Wraith raised an eyebrow.   
  
"You were better off with me," the girl explained. "I've more mercy in me than my Lord."   
  
Voldemort circled 'round to stand beside Wraith. With his eyes and wand still on McGonagall, he touched a hand to the bloody sleeve of his Wraith's dress. "Go and play somewhere else, pet," he told her under his breath. "I'll finish this."   
  
Wraith's eyes darted between McGonagall and the Dark Lord. "…Yes, my Lord." She gave McGonagall once last long look before she was gone.  
  
McGonagall blinked, wondering just where the girl had gone. She brought her wand up and glared at the Dark Lord. "Voldemort. We've been expecting you."   
  
"So I gathered," Voldemort said, his eyes narrowed. "Shall we?"   
  
Before the words had even left his mouth, a curse flew in the air between them. Within moments the two were locked in their duel.     
  
  
  
  
Wraith slipped back to the edge of the fight, assessing how each side seemed to be fairing. She wasn't all that surprised to see that the Death Eaters had overtaken most of the Order.   
  
Her eyes flickered towards her Lord's duel with McGonagall. She  _was_  surprised at the smoldering resentment she felt in the put of her stomach. She knew quite well that the Dark Lord had not been protecting her––He had simply wanted McGonagall for himself. Wraith wondered if he planned to kill her there in the Alley or if he wanted her taken prisoner as well.   
  
Wincing slightly, she pressed a hand to her temple. Her head felt oddly heavy and she felt the warning exhaustion in her bones. Shaking herself, she turned her attention back to the battle. She felt her heart skip a nervous beat as her eyes locked onto a familiar face.   
  
Neville Longbottom seemed to freeze as well. She saw him mouth her name and she shook her head quickly. Wraith stepped back and quite deliberately turned her back on him, disappearing into the crowd.   
  
 _Damn it, of_  course _he'd be here fighting! I should've thought of that_ ––   
  
She stopped, her legs suddenly giving out beneath her. She fell to the ground, biting back a scream of pain.  _No!_  She felt the familiar and terrible agony rush through her like fire. Her Lord was pulling power through her–– _from_  her––and she was paying the price.   
  
Wraith bit down hard on her tongue to keep herself silent.  _I have to get out of here_ –– The pain was too great, she felt her consciousness beginning to fade…   
  
It took her a minute to realize that strong hands were lifting her up off the ground. Someone had thrown her arm over their shoulders, half carrying her out of the street and away from the battle.   
  
"What the hell happened?" Neville demanded of her, pushing his way through the door of a deserted storefront.   
  
"The hell…?" Wraith gasped out. "What the  _hell_  are you doing?"   
  
"Repaying a debt," Neville retorted. He laid her on the dusty floor as gently as he could, but Wraith was too wracked with pain to really care. On the floor, she curled up into a tight ball, willing herself not to cry out.   
  
"Get…out…of here," Wraith ordered through clenched teeth.   
  
"But what's wrong with you?"   
  
Wraith gasped out a humorless laugh. "I'm…not stupid enough…to tell you…" She let out a low moan, fighting the pain as best she could. "Get out," she repeated. "…Dark Lord…taking prisoners…if you get caught…I won't be able…to help you a second time…"   
  
Neville hesitated and Wraith felt her temper snap.   
  
" _Are you mental?! Go_!"   
  
The pain intensified and she bit her lip, drawing blood.   
  
"…Your debt…is repaid…" she whispered harshly, "…I'll be fine…just  _go_!"   
  
Neville closed his eyes and turned his head away. It was clear that he wanted to fight still––but he stepped back and out of the shop without looking at her again.   
  
Wraith's eyes fluttered closed when she realized he was finally gone. Relief was a short-lived balm overbearing the pain, but then Wraith found that she couldn't fight it any longer.   
  
She screamed, her cry echoing out into the street over the battle, and then blackness thankfully overtook her.   
  
  
  
  
When she was once again aware of her surroundings, Wraith chose not to open her eyes. She felt the lingering pain in every inch of her body and wasn't keen on moving.   
  
Something pulled at the edge of her awareness and she realized that she wasn't alone.   
  
"Is she alive?" she heard someone whisper fearfully.   
  
"She's alive," she heard the Dark Lord reply.   
  
A wave of relief mixed with wrath rushed through her. She opened her mouth to speak, but she couldn't even manage a whisper.   
  
"Rabastan," she heard Voldemort say, "Take her. It's time we left…before the reinforcements arrive."   
  
Wraith felt Rabastan kneel beside her and willed herself to remain limp as he gathered her up in his arms.   
  
"She weighs less than bird," Rabastan murmured.   
  
"You did well, my little Wraith," Voldemort whispered to her.   
  
Wraith thought of all sorts of inventive curses, but was too tired to voice them.


	41. A Touch of Dissension

_"He who plays with fire may become its victim."_  
  
  
  
  
When they returned to Slytherin Manor, the day had already dawned with an overcast sky.   
  
Wraith's limp form suddenly buckled in fresh pain. Rabastan nearly dropped her in shock, but managed to hang on. A high mewling sound escaped Wraith's lips and she began to shake horribly.   
  
"Put her down!" Voldemort ordered abruptly.   
  
Rabastan did as commanded, laying the girl down upon the graveled path that led up to the Manor. Wraith began to cough weakly and then gagged at the taste of blood in her mouth.   
  
Voldemort stood over her. "Take the prisoners below," he commanded the remaining Death Eaters. "We shall see to them after they're…settled. Severus––you stay."   
  
Wraith forced herself to remain still until the sound of footsteps died away. Voldemort knelt on the ground beside her, but did not touch her. Wraith coughed again and then turned on her side away from the Dark Lord. Dark blood fell from her lips, pooling on the ground beneath her. Snape inhaled sharply, the only sign of his shock. Wraith spat the remaining blood out with a bitter air. Her breath was harsh and ragged as she collapsed once more.   
  
"Are you finished?" the Dark Lord asked blandly.   
  
A low growling sound was his only response. Voldemort smiled darkly as he reached for her. As Rabastan had, he lifted her up in his arms. Despite the way she seethed inside, she couldn't help but curl towards him, one hand clutching at his robes.   
  
"My Lord," Snape began, "what––?"   
  
"We pushed her a little too hard," Voldemort said by way of explanation. "…She'll recover." He lowered his head closer to hers. "Rest now, my pet," he murmured.   
  
Voldemort took Wraith up to her tower, laying her across her bed and drawing the curtains around it closed. "Come, Severus," he said, turning for the door again. "Let's see how our prisoners fare so far."   
  
  
  
  
Wraith slept through the day without stirring. When the sun had set, the Dark Lord returned to her room. For a moment, he stood at her bedside, considering her frail form. He sat on the edge of the bed and touched a hand to Wraith's cheek. He trailed his fingertip down her neck, pausing at the hollow of her throat before he rested his hand over her heart, giving back a little of what he had taken.   
  
Her breathing eased slightly and her eyes fluttered open. She blinked up at the canopy of her bed, eyes still clouded. Then something in her gaze sharpened and she turned her head towards her Lord.   
  
"Sleep well?" Voldemort asked dryly.   
  
Wraith did not answer at first. She slowly dragged herself up into a sitting position.   
  
"Well enough," she said, her voice as ragged as her breath had been, "…considering."   
  
Voldemort smiled just slightly and he touched a hand under her chin, turning her face towards him. "You gave us the battle, my pet. With the number of the Order that you incapacitated, we were able to crush them with far more ease."   
  
He ran his thumb over her lower lip, brushing away a touch of drying blood at the corner of her mouth. His Wraith was trembling just slightly as their eyes met. Voldemort's eyes narrowed and he leaned just slightly closer––  
  
––Wraith turned her head away, wrenching her chin free of his hold.   
  
Voldemort scowled, but waited to speak until she turned her eyes back to his. He now saw that she did not tremble from fear or weakness––but from anger.   
  
Her broken eyes were bloodshot and furious as she snapped at him. "Don't you ever,  _ever_  do that again! Not while we're  _both_  on the battlefield!"   
  
Voldemort's eyes widened briefly in astonishment before they narrowed dangerously, "How  _dare_  you, you ungrateful little––"   
  
To his further surprise and indignation, her arm lashed out, grabbing the front of his robes. She pulled herself towards him until their faces were a mere inch apart.   
  
"You could have killed us both," she hissed as him from behind clenched teeth. "You  _know_  that I'm vulnerable when you take power through me! What if one of the Order had thought to plunge a knife through my heart when I fell? They know I can be injured––McGonagall saw me bleed. We don't know how my death would affect  _you_  when our link is wide open like that! And I am not keen to  _test_  it!"   
  
She released him just as suddenly as she had grabbed him and fell back against the headboard, having exhausted what little strength she'd had. There was a rather stunned quality to the silence that followed her tirade.   
  
Wraith lifted tired eyes to her Lord and sighed. "My power is your power; it's there for you to take. I know that's why I exist…But for god's sake,  _leave me behind_  next time!"   
  
Voldemort continued to scowl at her, but he found that he could not argue with her. As much as it galled him, she was at least a little right. He stood, his face expressionless. "I'll be calling my Death Eaters to the Manor in a few hours. If you've the strength, you're to join them."   
  
Wraith licked dry lips and considered herself. Raising a hand to touch the dried blood on her sleeve, she grimaced. "I've spent the day in a singed dress stained with blood and dust and I've still got the taste of blood in my mouth––I am going to gather my strength…and go soak in a bath for those few hours."   
  
She moved to the edge of the bed, surprised when Voldemort offered a hand to help her up. She hesitated for a moment before placing her hand in his. He pulled her to her feet with little effort. She wavered on her feet and placed her free hand against his chest to steady herself. Her resolve wavered as her balance had.   
  
Eyes on the ground, she whispered, "You hurt me."   
  
"I'll make it up to you."   
  
Wraith smiled weakly, not believing him.   
  
  
  
  
A few hours later, the Death Eaters who had fought that morning met in a darkened room of the Manor. There were scattered chairs and couches set in a circular pattern around it. The only light came from the fireplace. The Dark Lord sat in the chair directing in front of the fire and his Wraith lay stretched complacently across the couch nearest him. Her long hair was damp, curling slightly as it pooled on the ground beside the couch. She had dressed plainly in a black dress with short sleeves and wore an air of weariness mixed with irritation.   
  
While the Death Eaters took their seats in the circle, her eyes remained closed. Snape spared her a glance as he moved to sit at Voldemort's right and wasn't surprised when her eyes opened just slightly at glare back at him.   
  
"Rowle," Voldemort began, "the number of prisoners below?"   
  
"The count is seventeen, my Lord," Rowle reported with a satisfied smile, "Including the Wandmaker and the Lovegood girl."   
  
"Excellent," Voldemort murmured. "We won the battle, my followers, but it was closer than I would have liked." He gestured to where Wraith lay. "You owe gratitude to my Wraith for thinning the Order's numbers during the fight."   
  
Wraith opened one eye, looking briefly to the Dark Lord before closing it again.   
  
"It was too close," Rodolphus agreed. "How the hell did they know we were coming?"   
  
"I'd like to know that as well," his brother said, scowling. "If the Wraith hadn't caught wind of their illusion, we'd have gone running into an empty building!"   
  
Wraith, still without opening her eyes, scoffed. With the exception of Voldemort and Snape, it went unheard.   
  
"The old joke shop was completely cleared out," Dolohov said. "Not even a scrap of parchment left behind!"   
  
"Could those guards we met first have sent an alarm that fast?"   
  
"Idiots."   
  
Every eye turned to Wraith, who had finally seemed to acknowledge their presence. Her pale eyes seemed to glow in the dim light.   
  
"We were set up," she told them bluntly. "McGonagall  _let_  herself be seen, knowing that we'd come running." She took hold of the back of the couch and pulled herself into a sitting position to cast a glare at the assembled group. "They played us,  _friends_ , like puppets."   
  
Voldemort touched a hand to her shoulder to silence her ire. "Unfortunately, my Wraith is correct. We fell into a trap. Thankfully, it is now a trap they will regret setting." He smiled darkly, sending shivers down many of his followers' spines. "We have McGonagall. It is only a matter of time before we have the locations of their other hideouts. The Order of the Phoenix is running out of places to hide."   
  
"One of the prisoners below is a Weasley, my Lord," Avery said. "He could have information that might lead us to Potter."   
  
Wraith closed her eyes at the mention of the Weasley boy, leaving Snape to wonder what was going through her mind. In fact…Snape fought not to frown at the girl, but he also wondered at her appearance. What had happened at the battle? She was quite obviously weaker, the hollows of her cheeks more pronounced, and he was certain he didn't imagine the vehemence that seethed under the girl's skin.   
  
"We shall give the prisoners a little time to wait and wonder," Voldemort told them.   
  
"And fret and fear," Wraith added under her breath.   
  
But Voldemort turned an approving eye to her. "Precisely," he said. "Diagon Alley is fully ours once more. We shall keep a steady watch to see how the remaining members of the Order react to the outcome of the battle."


	42. Old Habits

_"What you do speaks so loud that I cannot hear what you say."_  
  
  
  
  
The hour was late when the Death Eaters slowly filed out of the meeting room. Snape was one of the last to leave. As he passed through the doorway, he felt the lightest touch upon his arm. Glancing over, he was perturbed to see the Wraith walking alongside him.   
  
"A word, Severus," she murmured, her lips barely moving at all, "if you don't mind."   
  
Though he did not reply, he allowed her to silently lead him to a dark, deserted room. Once inside, the door slammed shut behind them with a loud bang. Snape did not allow the shock tactic to do its job. Rather, he simply gazed levelly at the girl who stood before him as if he had not noticed it.   
  
"Why were you listening outside my door?"   
  
Snape blinked. "I've no notion of what you're talking a––"   
  
A sharp, bitter, and  _strong_  wind slammed into his chest, pushing and holding him against the wall. The wind seemed to solidify into invisible snake-lie coils around him as the Wraith took several steps towards him. Her pale eyes flashed in the darkness and Snape saw for the first time how tired and bloodshot they appeared.   
  
"I'm not in the mood to play games, Snape," she told him, "Far,  _far_  from it, in fact. There was a cloaking spell just beyond my door when the Dark Lord and I were talking earlier and the magic had your taste to it.  _What did you mean by it_?"   
  
Snape did not speak at first. His mind whirled with thoughts that had a strangely frantic feel to them. There was something about this girl––something off about her that put his back up.   
  
 _But was she bluffing? Could she have really sensed that it was_  me  _outside her door? Or is she just guessing because she dislikes me?_    
  
In the silence that fell in lieu of an answer, Wraith's temper snapped. A sharp breath escaped her in a snarl and the frigid coils around Snape tightened painfully. He gritted his teeth against it and met her suddenly cold blue eyes.   
  
"You wouldn't dare kill me," he reminded her through his teeth. "The Dark Lord would hardly approve."   
  
Wraith glared at him, unmoving, before she hissed out a curse under her breath. She gestured vaguely and the coils of power that held Snape were gone. He lost his balance a moment, caught off guard, and fell to his knees on the stone floor.   
  
"You are––fortunately for you––quite right," Wraith murmured darkly, watching as he climbed back to his feet. "However, the same rule applies, Snape. What would the Dark Lord have to say about you spying at my bedroom door? You were eavesdropping on him as well as me."  
  
"He might tell you I have a habit of it, or did once upon a time."   
  
"Stop it!" Wraith snapped at him. "I want an answer, Snape. I don't like it when people pry."   
  
The room went cold again, but Snape felt only the slightest warning breeze around him. Wary, he opened his mouth to reply––when Wraith suddenly made a soft noise of pain and the wind died abruptly. He saw her pale dangerously and she crumpled to the floor, limp as a rag doll.   
  
He hesitated only briefly before crossing to her and kneeling at her side. He reached out to touch her arm, as if to help her stand again.   
  
"Don't!" she shouted hoarsely. "Don't touch me––" She pulled away from him, turning her face from his sight. "––Don't help me," she added softly. She put a hand over her mouth, falling silent.   
  
Snape considered her in the silence, disturbed in equal parts by her power and her weakness, for neither made any sense he could see. Very slowly, he spoke. "…No one knows what you are," he told her, though she already knew this. "We don't know where you came from…we don't know  _anything_  about you. I will not apologize for wanting to know about the mystery that has become the Dark Lord's killing hand."   
  
"…And did you hear anything of interest?" Wraith asked him from behind her hand.   
  
He raised an eyebrow at her, but she did not see it. "Nothing that made much sense, as it was all out of context for me…Are you offering to elaborate?"   
  
"I want to know what you heard," she admitted. "Whether I add to it depends entirely on what you wish to know." She looked at him from the corner of her eye. "After all, you weren't meant to hear a word of it at all."   
  
Snape hesitated and then said, "You…argued…with the Dark Lord."   
  
Wraith flushed slightly and did not deny it.   
  
"I wasn't outside for the whole of the conversation," he confessed. "I was only at the stairs when I heard your conversation become heated…What I heard was when you told him that your power was his to take."   
  
"And so it is," Wraith told him evenly.   
  
"The Dark Lord can use your power? Like you can?"   
  
"Not exactly," she said. "He can draw my power from me to fuel his own."   
  
"I've never heard of such a thing. Child, what  _are_  you?"   
  
"I don't know," she said, sounding for all the world like a lost little girl.   
  
Snape wished that he could see her face, but she was still hiding it from him. What was he to trust? The cold, bitter young woman who had threatened his life...or the trembling little thing beside him?   
  
"I will tell you," Wraith said softly, "that I had nothing before he came for me. No name, no past, nothing. I don't know what I am. I don't know if there are others like me or ever have been––But none of it matters compared to the fact that I have him now."   
  
Snape suppressed a shiver at the truth in her words. "I see," he said, though he was certain he was only gazing upon the surface of it.   
  
When she said nothing more, Snape stood and offered a hand to help her stand as well. She only shook her head. Snape waited a moment more before he turned to the door without further argument. But at the door, he stopped, one last thought occurring to him.   
  
"Do you intend to tell the Dark Lord about my spying?" he asked her.   
  
A low laugh caught his hearing. "No," he heard her reply from the darkness of the room. "It's not worth getting you in trouble over. Just don't do it again. I catch you at my keyhole again and I'll take your ear; am I clear?"   
  
"Crystal," Snape replied dryly.   
  
It wasn't until he was gone that Wraith stood up from the floor. She drew back her hand from her face and scowled at the sight of blood staining her palm. She conjured a cloth and wiped the remainder of the blood from under her nose.   
  
Snape had not seen the nosebleed; of that she was certain. Inquisitive as he was, he would have asked about it. Her legs felt like jelly, but once she was sure any trace of the blood was gone, she stepped out from the room and made her way slowly through the Manor back to the safety of her tower.   
  
  
  
  
It was late the next day that Voldemort returned to his Wraith's tower. Though the sun had not yet set, the room was dark. Wraith had drawn closed the drapes on every window and no fire burned at the hearth.   
  
Voldemort stood in the threshold, allowing his eyes to grow accustomed to the darkness. He found her lying across her bed, turned on her side with one hand covering her eyes. He paused at her bedside to listen to her breathing, pleased that it was not as rough as it had been the night before.   
  
He pulled back the curtain of the bed and sat on the edge, reaching out to run a hand across her cheek. She stirred just slightly, as if fighting to remain asleep, but then turned her face towards him.   
  
"My Lord?"   
  
"You've turned your room into a tomb, my pet," he said.   
  
"The dark helps the headache," she told him sleepily.   
  
"And are you feeling any better?"   
  
She stretched and slowly sat up. "Bit by bit," she said.   
  
Voldemort frowned at her just then. By the way she held her head it was plain that she was looking directly at him in the almost complete darkness. "Tell me, pet, what is your vision like in the dark?"   
  
"Better than most, I would guess," she said. She shrugged. "Azkaban, my Lord."   
  
"Ah," the Dark Lord said slowly, understanding.   
  
"Would you like a fire?" she asked, reaching out towards the lamp upon one of the bedside tables.   
  
"Let one of the house-elves take care of it," he told her, stopping her hand and pointing his wand at the lamp himself. It lit, pouring a small circle of light to touch them. Wraith winced at the sudden illumination. Voldemort touched her cheek again, drawing her attention back to him. "You must be careful for the next few days," he reminded her.   
  
"I know," Wraith said in a small voice.   
  
Voldemort brushed a strand of hair from her face and then stood up from the bed. "I have a gift for you," he told her.   
  
Wraith tilted her head to one side, a small smile playing with the corner of her mouth. "A gift?"   
  
"I'll return in an hour," he said. "I must tend to the prisoners, make sure that Rowle is doing his job…Get up and get dressed. When I return, we'll have supper. There are a number of things we must discuss, my pet."   
  
Wraith felt the slightest flutter of fear in her stomach, gazing up at him. "I'll see you in an hour then," she said softly.


	43. Closer Still

_"Intimacy is being seen and known as the person you truly are."_  
  
  
  
  
Within a few minutes of the Dark Lord's departure, Wraith slipped out of bed, ignoring the headache that still pounded at her temples. She was choosing a dress when a hesitant knock came to the lower part of her door. Frowning, she answered it, her eyes gazing down to meet the terrified face of a house-elf. She gave him a small, but kind smile and stepped back so that he could enter.   
  
"I'm sorry it's so dark," she told him, trying to coax him into speaking with her. She had missed Jiri and wondered if she might find a similar companion among the servants of Slytherin Manor.   
  
The house-elf nodded at her comment distractedly and set about building a fire without a word. Warm light spilled out from the hearth a few minutes later and Wraith quickly closed her eyes against it.   
  
"M-miss?"   
  
"Hm?" Wraith slowly opened her eyes to see the house-elf staring worriedly at her. "Oh, it's nothing you've done," she told him swiftly, interpreting his expression. "I've a headache. I was using the dark against it, but…"   
  
"Would Miss like some tea for the headache?"   
  
"If you have something that isn't magic or potion that will work for me, I would very much appreciate it," she replied carefully.   
  
The house-elf bowed his head and was gone with a loud cracking noise. Wraith blinked at the space he had been, wondering if she'd know that house-elves could do that.   
  
While she waited, she finished choosing a dress and stepped behind her changing screen. When she heard another loud  _crack_ , she stepped back out into sight. The house-elf offered a steaming mug up to her.   
  
"It's very bitter, Miss," he warned as she took the mug. "But it ought to help."   
  
"Thank you," Wraith said sincerely. "May I have your name?" she asked him then.   
  
He bowed his head once more. "Bede, Miss."   
  
"It's good to meet you, Bede," she told him.   
  
"Master ordered supper be brought up to you and he here," Bede said, cautiously looking back up at her. "But he didn't mention what supper he'd prefer. Does Miss have something she'd like?"   
  
"Oh, whatever you think is best," she said absently. She took a careful sip of the tea and grimaced as she discovered how right the house-elf had been about the taste. Steeling herself, she swallowed half of the tea in one gulp, ignoring the way it scalded her throat. Making a face, she set the tea aside for a moment. "Nothing too rich," she corrected then.   
  
"Yes, Miss," Bede said with yet another bow.   
  
Wraith smiled slightly. "You can stop that, you know," she said gently. "You don't have to bow and scrape to me. In fact, I'd prefer it if you didn't."   
  
Bede blinked in confusion and then dared a smile of his own. "M-miss is…different," he said at last.   
  
Wraith flashed him a grin. "Indubitably."   
  
She straightened and looked around her tower room with a slight frown. She lifted a hand towards a blank part of the wall before she caught herself. Wincing at her own stupidity, she glanced at Bede again.   
  
"Bede…could you find me a mirror? A full length one that would fit there?" she gestured to the space of wall.   
  
"Of course, Miss," Bede replied, nodding quickly. "I'll check on supper and bring one up to you."   
  
"Thank you, again," she said.  
  
  
  
  
When Bede returned a quarter of an hour later, he had the mirror she'd requested, and company. Two others rather timid elves entered the room after him each carrying an item. One was levitating a chair similar to the other by the fire; another had a square table that he placed between the chairs. The one that had carried the chair in seemed to be female. She offered Wraith a timid smile as she bowed.   
  
Bede gestured to the others. "Miss, this is Dax and Ells. Ells is my wife."   
  
Wraith gave Bede a grateful look for the introductions. "It's good to meet you, at last. I know it's the mark of a good house-elf not to be seen, but please don't stand on ceremony with me."   
  
The two nodded, but did not seem as convinced as Bede had been.   
  
Ells bowed her head to Wraith. "Master will be here soon. I'll bring supper."   
  
Dax followed her out without a word to Wraith, but Bede gave her one last smile before he left too.   
  
When they were gone, Wraith moved to look in the mirror Bede had found for her. She frowned at her reflection, not entirely pleased with what she saw. Her cheekbones were more prominent than they had been before the battle just the day before, and there were deep shadows beneath her eyes.  _Pray that when another battle comes my Lord does not accidentally_  kill _me_ , she thought rather bitterly.   
  
Thinking back to the battle, she felt her head begin to pound again. As she reached for the rest of the tea, she remembered Neville's expression.  _I should have never helped him, no matter how vexed I was with Bellatrix_. But was that  _really_  why she had helped him escape?   
  
Wraith put a hand to her temple as if to still the thoughts whirling in her mind. "Focus," she told herself, looking back to the mirror.   
  
The dress she'd chosen was similar to the one she'd worn yesterday, in that it had short sleeves that just covered her shoulders. The difference between them was that this dress's sleeves were sheer and had an empress waistline. The style seemed to suit her, she decided as she looked it over. Her hands shook slightly as she put thin lines of kohl around her eyes.   
  
 _"There are a number of things we must discuss, my pet."_  
  
Wraith could only guess at what the Dark Lord wished to discuss with her, but remembering the last few times they had been alone together, she thought she had a good idea.   
  
She felt her stomach twist into knots inside her and was horrified when she saw tears fill her eyes. She wished with every fiber of her being for some way to speak with Janesch. Surely he would know what to tell her.  _What happens if he reaches for me and I flinch? He'd want to know why and I_  can't _tell him_. For one horrible moment, she was caged again in that dark stone cell. She inhaled sharply and dug her nails into the palm of her hand, using the pain to snap herself back.   
  
She sighed and stepped back from the mirror. Her eyes were dry again, thankfully. She'd resort to a touch of magic to keep them that way if she had to.   
  
Her head whirled around when a small knock came to her door, but she knew before she opened it that it was only Bede and Ells with supper. The two elves set matching covered plates on the table near the fire, along with silverware and glass goblets. As they moved to leave once more, Wraith wrung her hands together.   
  
"Ells?" she called hesitantly. "Can you help me with something?"   
  
Bede and Ells shared a quick look before Ells nodded. She remained while Bede left. Wraith sat on the edge of her bed, still wringing her hands together.   
  
"I don't know what the Master expects of me tonight," she told the house-elf, gesturing to her dress. "I'm not…supposed to use my magic for frivolous things for a little while. You house-elves have magic of your own, don't you? Will you help me?"   
  
Ells blinked large eyes up at her. Then she smiled. "Be happy to, Miss," she said.   
  
  
  
  
When the hour the Dark Lord had given her had finally passed, Wraith's dress had been altered more to her liking. The sheer sleeves were changed from black to blue and a ribbon of the same material ran around the empress waist. Ells had also tied a ribbon of sheer blue over Wraith's hair, leaving her black hair pulled back and hanging freely down past her waist, and dusted blue over the girl's eyes. Ells had left her with a kind smile, but it wasn't enough to still the panic that fluttered within Wraith's breast.   
  
Alone with her alarm, she forced herself to sit in the second chair in front of the fire, though she desperately wanted to pace. She reached for the bottle of elf-made wine Bede had brought up and poured just a little into her goblet.   
  
Unable to remain still, she stood, goblet in hand, and walked to the east window, pulling open the curtains and letting the dim moonlight to stream into the room. Staring out into the clouded skies, she drank down the wine as if to fortify herself.   
  
A few minutes later, she felt him.   
  
She turned away from the window and went back to the table, pouring herself more wine and also filling the other goblet. She settled back into the chair as her door opened.   
  
And despite her fear, her nerves were buried beneath the wave of relief she always felt in his presence.   
  
The Dark Lord paused in the doorway, taking in the sight of his Wraith.   
  
She smiled just slightly and stood, stepping around the table to approach him. "My Lord," she spoke softly.  But despite the soft tone and gentle smile, Voldemort caught just the hint of impish humor in her eye. "…You're late."   
  
"I thought you might say something to that effect," he retorted. He touched a hand to her hollow cheek. "You must be famished, pet."   
  
Wraith leaned just slightly to his touch, her eyes closing briefly. "I'm fine," she whispered almost automatically.   
  
"Come," Voldemort said, gesturing to the table. "I've never been one to waste what is before me."   
  
A jangling chord of fear echoed across her heart. As the two sat and slowly began to eat, Wraith's mind began to whirl once more. Despite the fact that Bede had created a marvelous and delicious meal, she could not taste it.   
  
 _"Your blood is the purest this world has seen for a thousand years, I am not keen to waste it."–– "If your Lord is so keen to see your blood well spent––Why doesn't he marry you himself?"––"…You don't care to be touched much at all––unless it's his hand that does the touching."––_     
  
"You seem distracted, my pet."   
  
Wraith blinked and lifted her eyes to his. "I'm only a little tired, my Lord." She pushed her plate away from her, for the most part untouched, and reached for her wine instead. Sitting back, she steeled herself. "You mentioned before that there were things you needed to discuss with me."   
  
Voldemort gave her an even look over his goblet. "So to the point, pet," he said lightly. "You must be tired."   
  
Wraith deliberately chose not to give one of her usual pert answers. Rather, she remained quiet, running a finger around the top of her glass, and waited.     
  
The Dark Lord considered her for long, silent minutes, before he too sat back in his chair. "The recent battle has shown me the need to be prepared," he told her. "With McGonagall and the others prisoners below, it is very likely that we will be able to track down a number of the Order's other hideouts."   
  
Wraith nodded, for she knew all of this from the last night's meeting.   
  
"So when we go to hunt them, we must be prepared," the Dark Lord continued. " _You_ , my Wraith, must be prepared."   
  
"My Lord?"   
  
"You are to be more circumspect with your powers from now on," Voldemort told her. "At least until the Order is vanquished. I cannot have your power fail when I need it most."   
  
"I  _am_  careful with my magic," Wraith said, her voice a little biting.   
  
Voldemort smirked at the ire in his Wraith's eyes. "I know," he assured her. "I need you to be more so. Put plainly, my Wraith, I want you to continue as you have the last day or so. Use your magic only when you need it, and for nothing frivolous. I don't want you Apparating either; it takes too much from you."   
  
Wraith frowned at that and leaned forward to argue. "My Lord, I have to Apparate to bring Janesch here. If you––"   
  
Voldemort held up a hand to silence her, a scowl twisting his face. "Your…vampire will be given the location of the Manor so that he may continue to visit," he told her with a slightly bitter air.   
  
Wraith sat back, not hiding her surprise. "…Thank you," she said softly. She took a sip of wine, wishing that her hand didn't shake. "I'll build my strength, my Lord. You have my word. I will be ready when you have need of me."   
  
"I've no doubt of that," Voldemort said. "Your vampire is another thing we need to discuss, pet."   
  
"Oh?" Wraith raised an eyebrow. "What about him?"   
  
"Is he aware…of what I intend for your future?"   
  
Wraith flushed slightly, remembering her last visit with Janesch. "Of the vaguest plans, he is aware," she said, clearing her throat. Then she frowned at her Lord. "Why? Why should they concern him?"   
  
"They shouldn't and I wish to keep it that way."   
  
It took Wraith a moment longer than it should have. Then she laughed.   
  
When Voldemort's eyes narrowed at her, she quickly hid her smile behind her hand.   
  
"I'm sorry," she said quickly, the words slightly muffled by her hand and suppressed laughter.   
  
"I'm glad you find this so amusing," he said sharply.   
  
"You ought to be, because the concern is ridiculous," Wraith told him simply. "Janesch is my friend. He is nothing more. And he never will be."   
  
"You sound certain."   
  
"I  _am_  certain," she said. "Dead certain."  _I can't stand this anymore._  She took a breath as she poured a little more wine for the both of them. "It's funny," she continued lightly, "You might have been interested to hear our last conversation."   
  
"Would I?" The Dark Lord's voice was low and rather dangerous.   
  
Wraith glanced across the table at him before she stood, carrying her wine over to the window once more. "You remember the last time I brought him here?" she prompted. "…When you and I were so determined to be angry with one another?"   
  
"I remember," Voldemort said shortly, wondering just where his Wraith was going with the conversation.   
  
"That's when I told him," Wraith said, keeping her voice even, "of your plans for me. He did find it interesting, but not in the way you're determined to think." Before the Dark Lord could reply to that, she continued on, her eyes fixed upon her reflection in the window. "When I told him you didn't want my pure blood to go to waste…he wondered why you didn't marry me yourself."   
  
The words finally spoken, Wraith dared a glance at her Lord. He was sitting perfectly still, his face a mask. When their eyes met, he asked, "And what did you tell him?"   
  
Wraith turned slightly and leaned back against the window, her eyes now locked upon his face. "…I told him that you wouldn't consider it."   
  
Voldemort slowly stood and crossed over to her. " _Really_."   
  
"If the point is to not let my blood go to waste, then no, you wouldn't."   
  
"Go on," Voldemort prompted.   
  
"I told him that immortal men have no need for heirs."   
  
The Dark Lord smiled just slightly and touched a hand to the ribbon in her hair. "That is true," he said. "I neither need nor desire an heir. All they would be to me is a future rival, after all. And frankly, my pet, an heir of mine with  _your_  power…is not an enemy I'd want to face."   
  
Wraith smirked up at him. "Imagine the terror I'd be if I wasn't so very yours."   
  
"Truer words have never been spoken," Voldemort agreed.   
  
Wraith tore her eyes from his, gazing at the fire instead. "You said you had a gift for me," she reminded him, changing the subject.   
  
"So I did," Voldemort replied, stepping back. His eyes never leaving her face, he reached into the pocket of his robes. "Turn around," he instructed, "and close your eyes."   
  
Wraith's eyes narrowed rebelliously before she did as he'd told her, facing the window once more.   
  
Wraith felt his hands around her neck and a moment later she felt cool stone against her skin. She opened her eyes and gazed into her reflection in the window, her mouth opened in shock.   
  
Hanging around her neck was a rope of dark, smooth stones, which she belatedly recognized as hematite. She slowly reached up to finger the stones.   
  
"It's beautiful," she murmured. Her head tilted to one side as she studied it. "What's it for?"   
  
"It suits you."   
  
She blinked and slowly turned to him. "Is that all?"   
  
He gave her an even look. "Am I not allowed to reward my servants?" he asked in a low voice.   
  
She smirked slightly. "I wouldn't dream of denying it of you."   
  
"You so rarely ask for reward," he told her. "I've found that I must be creative when it comes to you."   
  
She looked back to the window. "I don't serve you for reward."   
  
"I know," Voldemort said. "It's what makes you the most deserving of reward out of all of my servants. Say 'thank you', pet."   
  
"Thank you," she repeated, her smirk growing.    
  
"Besides," Voldemort said, reaching around her to run his hand across her collarbone, "It's September now. Your birthday has passed. If you truly need a reason for the gift, we'll use that."   
  
Wraith smiled and laughed softly, meeting his eyes in their reflection. "I'd forgotten," she whispered. "I suppose that means that I'm eighteen now."   
  
"It does," Voldemort said, leaning his head down closer to her hair. He took in her soft scent and sighed distractedly. "You were wrong, you know," he told her then.   
  
"About?"   
  
"I did…consider it."   
  
His other hand came around her waist, drawing her back against him. Wraith felt her breath leave her in a rush and cursed her racing heart––and yet she lifted a hand to the arm around her shoulders, accepting the embrace.   
  
"…But?"   
  
"But," the Dark Lord confirmed softly, "you were very right about why I won't marry you. I need your bloodline extended beyond you for future years. You will not live forever, my Wraith, though you will live a long time. Someday, I will need your replacement."   
  
The words chilled her deeply and she quite suddenly felt caged within his arms. Inhaling sharply, she carefully pulled away from him and walked back towards the table. She gulped down the last of her wine before setting the goblet on the table's surface. She rested her palms on the table for several moments and then very slowly turned back to him. He had remained at the window, though his head turned to follow her movements. Eyes still on him, she stepped away from the table.   
  
"…What do you want from me?" she asked him simply.   
  
Copying her movement, he stepped away from the window and towards her.   
  
"I'm still trying to decide," he replied.   
  
He reached out and lifted her face towards his. She stood very still. When he leaned just slightly closer, Wraith tilted her head up voluntarily and slowly closed her eyes.   
  
His mouth just barely brushed hers at first, as if he were tasting the remnants of the wine upon her lips. Then he deepened the kiss, breathing in the scent of her as if to memorize it. Her lips were soft and unresisting, if hesitant, as she returned the kiss. But when her lips parted in invitation, Voldemort pulled back. When her eyes opened to meet his, he read the trepidation and slight confusion within them. He smiled just slightly and ran the tip of his tongue over his own lips.   
  
"Well," he murmured pensively.   
  
Wraith said nothing––she could think of nothing to say in any case––and waited.   
  
"This requires thought," the Dark Lord said at last. "Unfortunately." He touched her lips with a fingertip, tilting his head to one side. "The benefits may well outweigh the risks…but the risks remain."   
  
"Risks?" Wraith repeated in a confused whisper.   
  
"There is no potion, no charm that guarantees against conception; they only discourage it. And frankly, if such a thing happened…I don't think I could actively murder a fellow descendent of Salazar Slytherin."   
  
Wraith felt herself pale and her mind went blank. Voldemort laughed darkly at the expression on her face.   
  
"No worries, pet," he said slowly, leaning towards her again.   
  
This time when he pressed his mouth to hers, she kept her eyes slightly open. His hand went around to the back of her neck, holding her still. She brought her hand up to his face and moved just a little closer to him. He pulled back again and saw just the glint of dark humor return to her eyes.   
  
"You'll let me know when you decide then?"   
  
"Pet, you will be the first to know," he told her, stepping back from her. "We'll continue this another time."   
  
"At your convenience, my Lord," Wraith said with a twist of her lips.


	44. Fealty

_"I have come to believe that the whole world is an enigma, a harmless enigma that is made terrible by our own mad attempt to interpret it as though it had an underlying truth."_  
  
  
  
  
A few days later, Wraith woke shortly after dawn, but didn't understand why at first. Frowning, she sat up in bed and closed her eyes, wondering if it had been something she'd dreamed…Then she realized.   
  
 _He's gone…the Dark Lord is gone_. It was the first time in weeks that he had left the Manor without her. Wraith slipped out of bed, a jumble of emotion in her heart. On one hand, she felt ill at ease without him close, as she always did––but on the other hand, there was a sense of relief. Voldemort had not returned to her room, nor had he sought time alone with her, but every night Wraith wondered.   
  
 _There's something about today_ , she remembered belatedly.  _Something important_ …   
  
As she moved to her east window, she tried to recall just what it was and why she felt so uneasy about it. Out the window, the sky was amazingly clear. Wraith blinked at the sight of pale blue sky and found a smile on her lips. Anticipating the cold despite the cloudless sky, she chose a long-sleeved dress with a high neck. Without even thinking about it, she also slipped the hematite necklace on as well. She was racing down the tower stairs not five minutes later.   
  
But her steps became cautious as she passed the drawing room on her way to the door. She could hear murmured voices within, but recognized only Rowle's. Curious, Wraith stepped closer to the door that someone had not properly closed, and listened.   
  
"…don't think it'll be as easy as most seem to think," Rowle was saying in a low voice. "McGonagall's a tough old bat; she's been leading the Order since Dumbledore died. She won't break easy, that one."   
  
"There're the kids though," the stranger said. "Bet one o' them will crack. Hell, if the Dark Lord's got a mind to, he'll use one of those kids against McGonagall."   
  
Wraith shivered, having figured out what the wizards were speaking of.  _That's what's happening today. The Dark Lord wanted to start on McGonagall, try to get information out of her_. She stepped back from the door, wishing she could close her ears as easily as she did her eyes.   
  
She twisted the dark beads of her necklace in her fingers as she started towards the front doors. Halfway there, however, she stopped. She didn't know why, but she was drawn down to the dungeons.   
  
On the threshold, she felt a chill run down her spine, but thankfully she did not black out as she had the first time.  _I don't want to be down there––Why am I doing this_? Before she knew it, she had reached the bottom of the stone steps of the dungeon and stood at the row of cells. Unlike the last time she had been there, almost every cell held someone. The prisoners were talking in hushed tones to each other, oblivious to her presence.  _Why am I here?_  She thought frantically, standing at the last step.  _Why am I here?_    
  
"Who's there?" One of the prisoners called out suddenly.   
  
Wraith recognized McGonagall's voice. It chilled her at first, for her voice came from the cell that Wraith had first killed. Without answering aloud, Wraith strode forward until she was within McGonagall's sight. The older witch drew in a hissing breath and her sharp eyes narrowed.   
  
"You. What are you doing here?"   
  
"I've no idea," Wraith replied, stepping closer to the cell. "Curiosity, perhaps?" she suggested lightly, touching a hand to the bars.   
  
"McGonagall, who is it?" called another voice.   
  
Wraith smirked to hear it. "Hello Fred," she called back before McGonagall could respond to his question. "How're you holding up?"   
  
"I'm  _fantastic_ ," Fred replied elatedly. "Thanks for asking. Is that the Wraith?"   
  
"Tis," Wraith said, stepping over to his cell without another glance at McGonagall.   
  
Fred Weasley stood at the front of his cell, leaning against the bars and grinning at her. He looked worn, his smile frayed around the edges. Wraith felt strange stirrings of guilt looking at him.   
  
"Hello," Fred said easily.   
  
"Hello," Wraith said back smiling despite herself.   
  
"You look tired," Fred told her, tilting his head to one side. "You-Know-Who keeping you busy?"   
  
Wraith winced, not meeting his eye. "Not particularly," she said lightly. She mirrored his movement and tilted her head. "Can I ask you a question?"   
  
"You most certainly can."   
  
She caught the humor in his voice. "Ah, but will you answer?" Before he could retort, she held up a hand. "I wanted to ask about what you shouted at Snape during the battle," she explained. "Tell me what you were talking about, won't you? I asked Snape, but I think he's too dignified to answer."   
  
Fred smirked, losing a touch of his humor. "I've a twin," he started.   
  
"Scary thought," Wraith quipped.   
  
He flashed a quick smile and continued, "Last July, we had a bit of a scuffle with You-Know-Who and your fellow Eaters of Death. During that, Snape cut my twin's ear off with a curse."   
  
"Ah," Wraith blinked and then made a face. "Lovely."   
  
"I'm sure he meant to do worse," Fred added spitefully. "So," he said in an attempt at lightheartedness, "curiosity, eh? Not here to torment us then?"   
  
"I don't like the same games my…contemporaries do," Wraith said slowly.   
  
"You seemed pretty playful a few days ago," Fred said pertly.   
  
Wraith smiled and put a hand to the bars. "I suppose I was," she said softly. "I wasn't there to kill anyone. I like that better, I think."   
  
Fred paled slightly and Wraith read the look on his face.   
  
"You forgot a moment there, didn't you?" she asked him gently, her voice a whisper. "You forgot what I was, what I do for my Lord."   
  
"Are you down here as Lady Death, then?" he asked, no trace of humor in his face.   
  
"No, Fred," Wraith said quickly. "Oh, no. I've no idea why I came down here, honestly. It's just…" Her voice trailed off as she turned her eyes towards the stairs. "Oh."   
  
"What?" Fred asked, leaning through the bars to see what she was looking at. But he saw nothing for empty space.   
  
"He's back," Wraith whispered. "I have to go." She hesitated and then added in an undertone, "Try to keep your head down today, Fred."   
  
He scoffed playfully. "You ought to know better than that," he said easily. "And you've only met me twice."   
  
She couldn't stand the false gaiety in his voice. She stepped back quickly, making for the stairs.   
  
"Wraith!"   
  
She paused before McGonagall's cell once more as the witch called out to her. "What? What do you want?" Wraith asked swiftly, eyes on the door at the top of the stairs.   
  
"I've seen Clara Bauman."   
  
It took a moment for the words to connect in her mind. "Clara?" she repeated incredulously. Forgetting her hurry, Wraith moved closer to the cell. "How do you know Clara?"   
  
McGonagall's face held no expression. "She's one of mine," the woman said simply. "She told me what you did. ––Why did you give her the warning?"   
  
"One of yours…" Wraith's eyes widened and she backtracked suddenly. "Clara was one of the  _Order_?" she hissed, an edge of fear in her voice that McGonagall didn't understand.   
  
"If you had known that before," McGonagall said with narrowed eyes, "would you still have warned her?"   
  
"I don't know," Wraith replied weakly.   
  
"Why did you warn her at all?"   
  
"I didn't want her hurt," Wraith said without thinking. "I liked her. She was kind to me."   
  
A tense silence followed her explanation. McGonagall put her hands around the bars of her cell. "Wraith…why do you kill for him?"   
  
Something in Wraith's eyes hardened at the question. "I'm not going to waste my breath explaining fealty to you," she snapped back. She let out a hurried breath and turned back to the stairs. "I have to go. I can't stay here––" But before she reached the stairs, she looked back. "Don't––don't tell him about Clara. Don't tell him she's one of yours and don't tell him that I helped her. If you do––he'll hunt her––just because he can."   
  
McGonagall was startled by the fear in the girl's eyes and was suddenly struck by how young the Wraith really was. Without another word, the Wraith scrambled back up the stairs and out the door, leaving a wake of confusion behind her.   
  
McGonagall sighed deeply and closed her eyes a moment, gathering her thoughts.   
  
"You caught that tidbit, didn't you, McGonagall?" Fred called out. "He's coming today."   
  
"I caught that, yes, Mr. Weasley," McGonagall said, her voice steady and clear. "We must be strong," she said to the group at large. "We cannot afford to break now," she added in a softer tone.


	45. Escape

_They are slaves who fear to speak,  
For the fallen and the weak._  
  
  
  
  
When Wraith reached the surface again, she was relieved to see that the hall was completely deserted. Low voices could be heard from the drawing room near the front of the hall and she followed the sound. She only prayed that the Dark Lord had not noticed her presence in the dungeons.   
  
"…kept them on low rations, as you ordered, my Lord," Rowle was saying when Wraith reached the doors. "It doesn't seem to have weakened their spirits so far, but that could be bravado."   
  
"We shall see," Voldemort replied. "In the end, the strength of their spirits will mean little." There was a pause and then Wraith heard him speak again, but not to those within the room. "There is no need to lurk, pet. You are welcome here."   
  
Wraith smiled slightly and pulled open one door. "I did not want to enter uninvited, my Lord," she said by way of explanation.   
  
Voldemort stood before the unlit fireplace, with a small group of Death Eaters idling about around the rom. Wraith's small smile faded at the sight of Gavin. The man saw her expression become guarded and smirked in response, tipping an imaginary hat to her. Wraith ignored him, quickly crossing to the Dark Lord's side. Clasping her hands behind her back, she leaned against the mantle, standing slightly behind Voldemort as he addressed the Death Eaters once more.   
  
"We begin and end with McGonagall," he told them. "It is she who will have the information I require, the others are simply fodder to be used against her."   
  
"The Weasley––"   
  
"Harry Potter has been exceptionally carefully in hiding his whereabouts, Rowle," Voldemort said, quickly silencing the man. "There is only slim chance that the Weasley brat will know anything useful."   
  
Wraith kept silent, her eyes shifting between each of the men's faces, watching their expressions.   
  
"McGonagall is an unknown factor," Voldemort said pensively. "She has never been in our hands before; always been careful not to be caught…Today will no doubt prove interesting."   
  
He gestured to the door and the group slowly made their way over to it. Voldemort remained behind, turning to see his Wraith. "I take it that you'll not be joining us below?"   
  
Wraith shook her head, smiling rather bitterly. "I wouldn't want to embarrass you, my Lord."   
  
Voldemort reached out to toy with the beads around her neck. "It's probably for the best," he told her evenly. "There are better uses for your power, anyhow."   
  
Wraith nodded absently, having no words. "I think I'll return to my tower," she said at last. She stepped away from the mantle, towards him. "I pray you are successful today, my Lord," she told him, touching a hand briefly to his cheek.   
  
"Go and hide then, my pet," the Dark Lord said. "I'll find you later."  
  
  
  
  
Wraith locked her door the moment she entered the room, sealing it against sound as well as entry. There was a strange fluttery feeling to her stomach and she felt a cold down to her bones. It felt odd. It felt familiar. Fear she had known before, and guilt––but this was a blending of the two that left her weak and shaking.   
  
 _Why should I feel guilty?_  She wondered, feeling nauseous.  _They are not my people. I owe nothing to them, not my loyalty nor my pity._  
  
However true her thoughts were, they did nothing to ease her fear or misplaced guilt.   
  
Wraith drew the curtains on the windows shut, blocking out the light of the day. She did not want the sunlight. It felt too out of place with what she knew was taking place down below. Wraith crawled back into her bed, doing her damndest to block out the world around her.   
  
  
  
  
Several hours passed, but as the day wore on, Wraith lost all track of time. She remained in her bed, curled into a ball, with her hands pressed to her ears. Phantom screams echoed in her mind, thought she knew there was no way she could hear the real ones coming from the dungeons below.   
  
When she could no longer stand the ringing silence, she cautiously moved off the bed and towards the west window. She drew back the curtain just enough to see outside. It was strangely comforting to see the sun setting in the distance, but the sight of the sky made her feel caged. She dared not leave her tower, for she knew what the screams did to her, but where could she go?   
  
 _Janesch._    
  
The answer came easily, but without an owl to send a letter, she had no way of contacting him, to tell him to come. Wraith closed her eyes, suppressing the bitter disappointment she felt.   
  
When she opened her eyes again, she turned her attention to the forest rather than the sky. Her breath caught in her throat.   
  
At the edge of the forest, she saw an owl floating above the treetops in the evening light. Wraith cracked the window open, reaching a hand out into the chilly air. She called out silently, extending just a touch of her power towards the creature. It answered her with a low call of its own, sounding like a distant ghostly cry. The owl flew across the grounds towards her. Wraith stepped back and opened the window further so that it could enter the tower.   
  
The owl flew through the window and came to land upon the back of her chair near the fireplace. The owl hooted again, low and soft, ruffling its wings.   
  
"Hello," Wraith said softly, glad for its presence. She approached slowly, though it was clear the bird was used to humans. She wasn't sure what kind of owl it was, really. It looked similar to the barn owls she'd seen about, but its coloring was darker, its feathers dark brown and gray. Wraith wondered if it belonged to one of the Death Eaters below. She hoped not.   
  
Still moving slowly, Wraith reached out to touch the owl's feathered head. When the owl did not take off, Wraith felt relieved and her smile brightened. "Want to help me?" she asked, her voice low and soft still. "I must get a letter to my friend. Will you carry it for me?"   
  
Though the owl did not respond to her words visibly, Wraith wondered if he could understand her. Keeping half an eye on the owl, she sat down to write quickly.   
  
 _Janesch, meet me at the Malfoys' gate as soon as you are able. I need you. Please come. Wraith._    
  
She folded the parchment and offered it to the owl. When the bird reached its head out to grasp the letter in its beak, Wraith knew it had been bred by wizards. She ran gentle fingers over its head to express her gratitude.   
  
"I'll call you Hesper," she told the owl, deciding that the bird was male. "Take the letter to my friend Janesch, quick as you can." The owl hooted around the letter in his beak and lifted off of the chair, flying out the window.   
  
  
  
  
Half an hour passed before Wraith saw Hesper's return. She had left the window wide open for him and, silently as a wind, he flew inside, landing once more on the back of her chair. Wraith saw a reply letter tucked in his beak and felt giddy with relief. She hurried over to take the letter and unfolded it quickly.   
  
 _Little ghost, I shall be there at full dark. I hope you are alright, my love, for I could sense your urgency through the paper. Janesch._  
  
With her answer, Wraith turned for the door. She hesitated, though, thinking of her new companion. She moved back to the chair and touched his head. "I will not cage you," she promised him. "But here."   
  
She gestured to the open space near the west window and a perch appeared, completed with cups for food and water. She filled both with a thought and offered her arm to the owl. Hesper grasped her arm and allowed her to carry him over to the perch.   
  
"The window will stay open for you," she told him, stepping back as he tested the water. "I hope you're here when I get back," she whispered fretfully.   
  
Sure that she had done her best by him, she crossed to the door. Again, she hesitated with her hand upon the knob, knowing that the silencing charm on the door would break the moment she opened it. But when she finally pulled it open, there was nothing but silence. Wary, Wraith started down the spiraling steps.   
  
It wasn't until she had reached the entrance hall that a long drawn out scream came echoing out from the dungeons. Wraith let out a low moan and fell to her knees, quickly pressing her hands to her ears. The scream was accompanied by her master's high cold laughter and Wraith felt her heart constrict within her chest.   
  
She forced herself to stand and practically ran across the hall. Before she reached the door, however, she felt a hand latch onto her arm, stopping her dead. Her balance wavered, but her captor steadied her with his free hand.   
  
"And where are you running too,  _pet_?"   
  
Red flashed across Wraith's vision at the sound of Gavin's voice.  She hissed a warning and turned towards him, her hand lashing out to claw at his smiling face. He caught her by the wrist and held her close enough that she felt the heat off his skin.   
  
"Let me go," she demanded, her voice strained.   
  
"Don't you want to stay for the fun?" Gavin asked her, his voice low. "We've been working all day, but have gained not one drop of knowledge. The Dark Lord has taken over the game and all must agree that he is best at what he does. Are you proud of our Lord?" he asked as she continued to struggle against him. "Don't you want to watch him work?"   
  
" _Let go_!" Wraith shrieked. Fear clouded her sight and sense and made her dizzy. She fought the urge to blast him with her magicks, her Lord's orders against it ringing in her ears.   
  
"Not this time, little girl," Gavin hissed, his face twisted into a cruel expression. "Our Lord is well distracted at the moment. You and I have unfinished business."   
  
Wraith twisted in his grasp, reaching to touch the Dark Mark upon her arm. That would attract the Dark Lord's attention if nothing else would. Gavin, sensing what she planned, suddenly changed his grip, twisting her left arm behind her back. Wraith cried out at the sudden pain and felt herself freeze. Gavin laughed, his breath hot on the back of her neck.   
  
" _Crucio_!"   
  
Gavin screamed in pain and released Wraith to fall to the ground. The moment he'd let her go, the curse lifted.   
  
"Are you  _mad_?" Snape demanded of the man who lay gasping on the floor. He strode across the hall, clearing have come from the dungeons below.   
  
Wraith, freed at last, turned, quickly stepping back from the both of them. Her eyes were wide, the pupils dilated so much that for the moment her eyes seemed black.   
  
"What's it to you?" Gavin demanded of Snape as he lifted himself back up. He stepped dangerously close to Snape, his eyes flashing. "This is none of your business, Snape."   
  
Snape merely turned his eyes to where Wraith stood. She appeared to be unharmed, but he could all but smell her fear. "I act in our Lord's interest," Snape told Gavin sharply. "I know full well that the Dark Lord ordered you away from the girl. Shall I tell him how you've disobeyed?"  
  
"There is much you don't understand here," Gavin protested.   
  
"I understand that while the Dark Lord was gone, you had possession of the Wraith. I understand that you abused your power over her in that time, else why would she hate you?"   
  
Gavin was silent, but his glare darkened immensely.   
  
Snape glanced again at the Wraith. She stared back at him, confusion overcoming the fear in her eyes.   
  
Slowly, she mouthed the words 'thank you', not taking her eyes from his. Snape nodded once. Wraith turned on her heel and ran for the door, disappearing through it before either man could stop her.   
  
Snape also turned, heading back for the dungeons.   
  
"We're not finished!" Gavin shouted after him.   
  
"Oh, believe me, Gavin," Snape said, glancing back, "We are."


	46. Matters of the Heart

_"Between two evils, I always pick the one I never tried before."_  
  
  
  
  
By the time that Wraith Apparated to the Malfoys' front gate, full dark had already fallen. The first thing that she saw was Janesch, his usually friendly face drawn into a scowl. It took her a moment to realize that he was arguing with someone inside the gate.   
  
"Jan?" she called out, discovering that her voice betrayed how weak she felt.   
  
Janesch turned quickly at the sound of her voice, took one look at her face, and crossed over to her, holding out a hand. Wraith took it and he squeezed her hand gently before letting it go.   
  
"My Lady?"   
  
It was Lucius Malfoy inside the gate. He looked pale and there was a trace of fear in his eyes.   
  
"Lucius," Wraith said, stepping away from Janesch and towards the gate. "I have asked you not to call me that," she reminded him with a small smile.   
  
Lucius blinked at her, his eyes drifted back to Janesch, who now stood behind her. "Your vampire arrived ten minutes before you," Lucius said, not taking his eyes from Janesch. "Normally, we simply ignore him since we know you will arrive shortly and take him away. But this evening, he arrived in  _that_." Lucius pointed down the dark lane that disappeared into the woods.   
  
Wraith turned to see what he was talking about. She blinked once. "What is that thing?" she asked, lifting an eyebrow at Janesch.   
  
The vampire flashed a grin. "An Aston Martin, circa 1965." When Wraith continued to stare at him, he shrugged. "It's a car,  _ma petite_."   
  
Wraith frowned slightly. She knew she had seen cars around London, but she had never seen one that looked like  _that_. She stepped around Janesch to see it closer. The paint was a deep black that made it nearly invisible in the dark. Wraith touched the hood gentle, the cold metal almost soothing under her hand.   
  
"Why did you bring this, Jan?" she asked.   
  
"From your note, I realized something had upset you," Janesch said softly, too low for Lucius to overhear. "I thought you would like to get away from everything for just a night." He opened the passenger door and gestured. "Get in," he said, flashing another grin. "We're wasting moonlight, my little ghost."   
  
Wraith hesitated, giving the interior of the car a thoughtful frown. "Jan…"   
  
Janesch held out his hand again, but stepped no closer, made no other movement. Wraith closed her eyes and breathed deeply, as if steeling herself, and then took his hand once more. This time he held onto it, smiling softly at her. "I'll never put you in harm's way,  _mon ami_."   
  
 _My friend_. A soft whimper escaped Wraith's lips and she leaned into him, hiding her face against his shoulder. Janesch gently touched her hair, murmuring softly in French. Remembering Lucius, Wraith pulled back. Janesch's eyes widened briefly before a soft frown came to his face of false youth. He touched cautious fingertips to her cheek and they came away wet with tears. Wraith saw, realized what it meant, and quickly wiped the remaining tears from her face.   
  
"Wraith," Lucius called, opening the gate and approaching them. "Does the Dark Lord know that you're here?"   
  
"The Dark Lord is otherwise occupied," Wraith replied, her tone cutting Lucius short.   
  
But after a moment his nerve returned. "And if he asks me of you?"   
  
That made Wraith pause. She was silent for a moment before she turned and met Lucius's eyes.   
  
"…If he asks…tell him I'll be back before morning."   
  
Without another word, she stepped back and slid into the car. Janesch closed the door behind her, flashing a grin––and his fangs––at Lucius before he too got into the car. The engine roared to life and soon all that Lucius could see were two points of red light in the distance.   
  
  
  
  
Sitting in the passenger seat of Janesch's car, Wraith had her eyes tightly shut with her hands digging into the seat. Janesch was kind enough not to laugh at her, but she heard the suppressed humor in his voice when he spoke.   
  
"I know you're unsettled,  _ma petite_ , but there is something you must do and it involves opening those pretty eyes of yours."   
  
"Several words which I have never personally used before come to mind, Janesch."   
  
The vampire laughed; a nearly tangible sound. It was warm in a way that made Wraith brave open her eyes to look at him. He smiled at her from the corner of his eye and gestured to the backseat of the car.   
  
"Climb in back, little ghost," he instructed. "You will find a change of clothes. We are close enough in size that I believe they will fit you well enough for the night."   
  
Wraith blinked at him in confusion. "Why do I need to wear your clothing?" she asked.   
  
"I'm taking you somewhere where magic folk and Muggles mix. You'd stand out in your dress and I don't think that's something you'd like much."   
  
Wraith hesitated and then, taking the skirt of her dress in hand, carefully climbed over the backseat. "Janesch?" she asked as she looked through the clothing he had folded on the seat.   
  
"Yes,  _ma petite_?"   
  
"How do you usually get to the Malfoys' when I call?"   
  
Janesch laughed lightly. "I fly,  _ma petite_."   
  
"Oh."   
  
She looked up front at him, eyes slightly narrowed. He caught the warning glare in the rearview mirror and laughed.   
  
"You know I won't look, little ghost."   
  
With a bracing sigh, Wraith maneuvered rather awkwardly on the backseat, trying to slip out of her dress. "Where are you taking me, anyway?" she asked as she reached for the new clothes.   
  
" _La Magia_ ," Janesch told her. "It's a little itty bitty pub that has a habit of attracting  _unusual_  characters."   
  
"I suppose it fits you like a glove," Wraith said dryly.   
  
"It'll fit you too, little ghost. No worries."   
  
"Janesch…" Wraith paused, not entirely sure of how to put her thoughts to words. "…Why are you taking me there?"   
  
"Because for all that you are no longer in Azkaban, little ghost, you are still locked away from the world." He met her eyes in the mirror and Wraith was surprised by the earnestness in his gaze. "I know your Dark Lord is the center of your world,  _ma chéri_ , but there is more to the world than the center."   
  
Wraith fell silent and Janesch only hoped that she was thinking about what he'd said.   
  
A few minutes later, she climbed back into the front of the car, frowning slightly at the clothes she wore. Janesch had brought her a pair of plain black slacks that were slightly too big for her, as well as a button-up shirt of a pale icy blue. Tugging on the edge of the shirt, Wraith gave the vampire a look. "I won't stand out in this?"   
  
"Not a chance,  _ma petite_ ," Janesch assured her. "Well," he said a moment later, looking her over, "…it won't be the  _clothes_  that make you stand out anyway."   
  
  
  
  
 _La Magia_  was a darkly aged, two-story building at the end of a long and twisted dirt road. The interior shone with warm light and the sounds of music and laughter poured out into the night.   
  
Wraith climbed out of the car, eyes taking in each brightly lit window and the crowd within. A flutter of nerves made her clutch the car door and she found that she's very much like to sit back down and have Janesch drive her back. The vampire came around to her side of the car and gently took her hand in his.   
  
"Come,  _ma petite_ ," he said softly. "I'll be with you."   
  
Wraith took a shuddering breath and let Janesch pull her towards the building. They walked up the front steps to the wide porch and the front door. A small painted sign above the door was the only thing that marked the building as a public place rather than someone's home.   
  
At the door stood a tall and rather imposing man; his skin was dark, but his hair was a pale brown that edged towards blonde. His small eyes were narrowed at first, but then he smiled. "Jan," he said, nodding his head to the vampire, "Been a while since we've seen you about."   
  
"Evening, Kale," Janesch said, flashing a grin, but no fangs. "Who's your friend?"   
  
"This is…Cherie," Janesch said, earning him a look from Wraith. She covered her surprise quickly and gave Kale a small smile in greeting.   
  
"Shy little mouse, ain't she?" Kale said, looking her over. "You're not corrupting her, are you?"   
  
"My Cherie is incorruptible, I assure you," Janesch retorted. A song floated through the door to them, the woman's voice vociferous and sweet. "Who's singing tonight?" Janesch asked, slipping a few bills into Kale's hand. "I don't recognize the voice."   
  
"New girl," Kale replied. "She started a few weeks ago, sometime after your last visit. She's been pulling in the crowds, Ms. Roz loves her."   
  
"Hm," Janesch squeezed Wraith's hand. "Come on,  _ma petite_ , let's take a look."   
  
Wraith stuck close to Janesch's side as they entered the boisterous crowd. Janesch led the way over to the bar and they found two empty stools. Once they were seated, Wraith felt steady enough to study the people around them. Janesch had been right; her clothing didn't stand out in the least. Everywhere she looked there were bright colors and varying styles of dress. It was all simple and casual though, so he'd also been right about her dress. Satisfied that she didn't stand out, Wraith turned her attention to the small stage at the back of the room.   
  
She suddenly felt like she'd been kicked in the stomach.   
  
Seeing the look on his friend's face, Janesch frowned worriedly. " _Ma petite_ , what is it?" He followed her eyes to the stage, but didn't understand.   
  
"It's Clara," Wraith all but whispered.   
  
"You know her?" Janesch asked, catching onto her worry. "She knows who you are?" he asked in a lower tone.   
  
"Yes," Wraith said, her eyes never leaving the stage. Then she blinked and turned her head. "But she won't expose me, Jan, she won't. She's…something of a friend…I think."   
  
"You don't sound at all certain, little ghost," Janesch said.   
  
"I helped her once," Wraith told him. "But she's…she's a member of the Order of the Phoenix."   
  
Janesch cursed under his breath. "Do you want to leave,  _ma chéri_?"   
  
Wraith was silent a moment, looking back to the stage. "…No," she said at last. "No, I don't want to leave."   
  
Janesch smiled gently and brushed his fingers along her cheek. "As you wish,  _ma chéri_."   
  
He bought a glass of white wine for Wraith and a glass of red for himself. Wraith couldn't help but blink at him as he took a small sip of the crimson liquid. He saw the look and grinned. "Liquids I can handle with care," he told her. "It helps me blend in." He looked around and saw that the area around the bar had become more crowded. "Let's find a table,  _ma petite_ ," he said, taking her hand again.   
  
As they moved through the sea of people, the music from the stage changed styles and Wraith saw that a different singer had taken over. She paused, making Janesch stop as well.   
  
" _Ma petite_?"   
  
Wraith didn't answer, her eyes were scanning the crowd around them. She looked back to the bar and saw her. She was sitting on the bar itself, laughing and chatting with the bartender. Then she turned––and their eyes met.   
  
Clara's eyes widened slowly. She launched herself from the bar and pushed through the crowd. Janesch held Wraith's hand tight, standing just behind her. Clara reached them within moments, her face lit with a bright grin. She took Wraith's face in her hands and swiftly kissed her before Wraith could protest.   
  
"Clara!" Wraith pulled back and felt Janesch wrap his arm around her shoulder.   
  
"I couldn't help it," Clara claimed, still grinning. Her smile faltered slightly as she looked Janesch over. "Not here on business, are you?" she asked quietly.   
  
"No," Wraith said quickly.   
  
Clara let out a breath and her smile returned. "Thank god," the taller girl said. "Oh, love, it's so good to see you again."   
  
"Is it?" Wraith asked softly.   
  
Janesch cleared his throat and gestured to an empty booth nearby. "Why don't we sit down, ladies?" he suggested. "I think a nice tête-à-tête is in order. By the by," he added, leaning towards Clara, "our darling here is to be called Cherie. There are enough of our kind here that her true name would cause a panic."   
  
"I get it," Clara said. She flashed another smile at Wraith. "Cherie; I like that."   
  
The three slipped into the booth, Janesch and Wraith on one side, Clara on the other.   
  
"You saved my life, you know," Clara said. "I owe you big time, love." She looked to Janesch with something of a cautious air. "So…I'm Clara," she said, offering her hand to him. "Clara Bauman."   
  
Janesch took her hand and raised it to his lips. " _Enchanté_ ," Janesch murmured, "Janesch Vivaldi, at your service." He gave her a small smile, his fangs flashing but a moment.   
  
Clara paled slightly, but made no move to take her hand back. "You do meet the most interesting folk, don't you, love?" she asked Wraith rather breathlessly.   
  
"Janesch," Wraith said, an edge of warning in her tone.   
  
Janesch grinned and released Clara's hand. "No worries,  _mon cher_ ," he said. "I never bite without permission."   
  
Clara giggled, her eyes brightening again. "Nice to meet you," she said. "I'm glad to see that…Cherie has a friend she can count on."   
  
"Clara, is it true that you're a member of the Order?"   
  
Clara lost all color and she sat back in the booth, eyes wide with shock. "H-how––?"   
  
"McGonagall told me," Wraith said softly.   
  
Clara slowly leaned forward and folded her arms on the tabletop, her shoulders hunched nervously. "She––McGonagall's alive?"   
  
"For the time being," Wraith muttered darkly. "I don't know how long she or the others will last."   
  
"Holy shit," Clara whispered. "Last I'd heard, most of the Order had been decimated. No one was sure what happened to McGonagall and the rest." She closed her eyes and sighed deeply. "Listen," she said, reaching out to touch Wraith's hand. "I  _was_  a member, sure, but…I'm very fond of my own skin, love. My best friend from school joined up and I followed suit, that's it. That's all. The Order's all but finished now and I'm afraid I'm acting the rat on a sinking ship. I'm not against you or yours, not really." She sat back and held her hands up with a shrug. "I'm Switzerland, Cherie. I'm done with the war. All I'm after is to survive. That's why I'm out here in the boondocks."   
  
"Drink your wine,  _ma petite_ ," Janesch said softly. He offered his glass of red to Clara, "Here," he said. "You look like you could use a drink as well."   
  
"Thanks much," Clara said, gulping down the wine. "I'm sorry," she said to Wraith, who still hadn't touched her wine. "I couldn't tell you when we met, love, not with all the others with you."   
  
"I know," Wraith said. "It's dangerous, Clara. Whether you're still a member or not, it's still dangerous for me to see you."   
  
"I understand," Clara whispered.   
  
Wraith set her wineglass aside and reached for Clara's hand. "It  _is_  good to see you, Clara," she said gently.   
  
Janesch looked between them and then slipped out of the booth. "I'll return in a bit,  _mes amis_." He touched a hand to Wraith's hair and disappeared into the crowd.   
  
Clara watched him go and then raised an eyebrow at Wraith. "He's sweet," she said lightly, "For a vampire, anyway. Are you two…?"   
  
"We're friends," Wraith said firmly.   
  
"…Cherie?" Clara whispered, leaning forward.   
  
"Hm?"   
  
"C'mere."   
  
Wraith blinked and leaned towards her over the table.   
  
"Can I ask you a question, love, about that night at Q.V.?"   
  
"Ask," Wraith said with a shrug.   
  
"If we hadn't been interrupted––would you have taken my offer?"   
  
Wraith felt a blush creep along her cheeks.   
  
"I don't know, Clara," she said honestly. "Probably not."   
  
"Had to ask," Clara said with a wicked smile. "I wanted to know what the reception would be like if I dared ask again."   
  
Wraith's blush deepened and she found no answer. Clara twisted a lock of Wraith's black hair around her finger and kissed her forehead.   
  
"I haven't offended you, have I, love?"   
  
"No," Wraith replied, shaking her head.   
  
"I'm glad to hear that," Clara said, leaning back. She tilted her head to one side. "I'm not going to see you again, am I?" she asked sadly.   
  
"I don't think so, Clara."   
  
"May I have a favor? Something of a goodbye present?"   
  
"That depends," Wraith said smartly.   
  
Clara laughed and moved over to sit beside Wraith. "I stole a kiss and for that I am sorry––but may I have one freely given before I go?"   
  
Wraith blushed again and didn't answer right away. Then, to Clara's surprise and delight, she nodded shyly. Clara touched her cheek and leaned over, gently pressing her lips to Wraith's. She did not press or demand and the kiss remained soft.   
  
"Be happy, okay?" Clara whispered and Wraith saw the glitter of tears in her eyes.   
  
"I'll try," Wraith told her.   
  
Clara smiled sadly and stood, reaching to grasp Wraith's hand just a moment. Not wanting to say goodbye, Clara merely flashed a quick grin and disappeared into the crowd.   
  
It wasn't long before Janesch returned to the booth. " _Ma petite_ ," he said softly, "you're crying."   
  
Wraith wiped the tears from her eyes and hid her face. "'Be happy' she tells me," she whispered. "I don't even know if that's possible."   
  
"I'll help,  _ma chéri_ ," Janesch promised, sitting beside her and putting his arm around her shoulders. "As much as I am able."


	47. Fissure

_"There is nothing like the razor sharp tongue of a good friend to cut through the lies we tell ourselves."_  
  
  
  
  
"You're quiet, little ghost," Janesch commented, his eyes on the road before them. "All's well?"   
  
"Well enough," Wraith murmured in reply. She gazed out the window at the blur of shadowed forest that they passed through.   
  
Janesch glanced over at her, frowning slightly. As he watched, Wraith touched a hand to her lips as if in thought. A quick smile flashed across the vampire's face. "She kissed you again, didn't she?"   
  
A slight flush came to Wraith's pale cheek. It was all the answer that Janesch needed.   
  
"Did you like it?"   
  
Her blush deepened. "It's not as though I've much to compare it to."   
  
Janesch chuckled warmly and then blinked at a sudden thought. "But you  _do_  have something to compare it to," he said. Looking over at her again, he smiled wickedly. "Has someone else been stealing your kisses,  _ma petite_?"   
  
Wraith's blushed vanished as she paled at the question. Janesch's teasing smile disappeared just as quickly.   
  
"Little ghost, what is it?"   
  
Wraith was silent at first and Janesch wondered if she would answer at all.   
  
"…What if I told you…that maybe you weren't as mad as I thought?"   
  
"Oh, for certain we are all a little mad,  _ma petite_ , but what–– _Ah_ ," he sighed as realized what she was talking about, "The Dark Lord."   
  
Wraith closed her eyes and chewed on her lower lip. "You were right about one thing," she admitted quietly. "He did…consider marrying me himself."   
  
"Did he?"   
  
"But I was right too," she continued. "He won't."   
  
"Once again, you sound so certain. He has kissed you,  _oui_?"   
  
"Once," Wraith replied quickly and then corrected herself, "…alright, twice."   
  
"But still you think he does not want you for a wife?"   
  
"He's considering sleeping with me, Vivaldi," Wraith all but snapped. "Marriage doesn't necessarily factor into that."   
  
" _Je suis désolé, ma petite_ ," Janesch murmured. He reached over to touch his hand to hers briefly. "I am sorry."   
  
Wraith turned her face away from him. "No, I'm sorry, Jan," she said softly. "I shouldn't have snapped at you. I'm just…" She couldn't finish the thought.   
  
Janesch glanced at her, catching a glimpse of her expression in the reflection of the window. Without a word, he pulled to the side of the road and stopped the car. " _Ma petite_ , you are frightened," he said, his voice gentle.   
  
Wraith did not answer, not trusting her voice.   
  
Janesch reached for her, resting his hand upon her shoulder. " _Ma chéri_?"   
  
"Janesch, I'm terrified," Wraith managed to whisper.   
  
" _Petite vierge_ ," Janesch murmured with a soft laugh. "There is no shame is being afraid, especially when one has no knowledge of…well,  _le fait de faire l'amour_." He brushed aside a lock of her hair and caught the shadows in her eyes. He felt as though his heart, though it no longer beat, had been twisted into a knot. "Unless," he whispered, "you've had a taste of that knowledge after all."   
  
"Don't," Wraith whispered sharply, pulling away from him. "Don't say it, don't think it. It's not your business and I wish to god it wasn't mine either."   
  
Janesch did not say it aloud, but he thought it nonetheless, unable to help it. For just a moment, red blazed across his vision and he longed to taste the blood of whoever had put that fear and hatred in the girl's eyes. Janesch breathed deeply, turning away from her, lest she see the bloodlust in his face.   
  
"Does he know?" he asked when he trusted his voice again.   
  
Wraith silently shook her head.   
  
"And you aren't going to tell him, are you?"   
  
Again, she shook her head.   
  
"Are you afraid of him?" Janesch asked gently.   
  
"Yes and no," Wraith said with the ghost of a smile.   
  
"But you are more afraid of the act itself,  _oui_?"   
  
Wraith nodded slowly. "Janesch," she murmured, "what…what if he reaches for me and I flinch? He would want to know why…and I  _cannot_  tell him."   
  
"Why can you not?" Janesch asked her. "As possessive as he is of you, little ghost, surely he would––"   
  
"No, Janesch," Wraith cut him off sharply. "I do not want him to know. Leave it alone."   
  
There was a heavy silence between them then, until Janesch chose to break it. "Are you ready to return home?"   
  
Wraith nodded. "I think so."   
  
"Very well."   
  
  
  
  
It was well after three in the morning when Janesch pulled his car to a stop in front of the Malfoys' gate. Wraith had changed back into her dress during the drive and felt a touch better for it. Neither she nor Janesch had spoken another word along the way.   
  
For a long moment, they sat in the car in further silence. Then Wraith sighed and opened her door, slipping out of the car. Janesch followed a moment later and walked around the front of the car to face her.   
  
He held out a hand, still not saying a word. Wraith hesitated and then took his hand, letting him pull her closer and wrap his arm around her.   
  
" _Je vous aime_ , little ghost," he whispered in her ear. "There is so much light beneath your shadow. I wish you would let yourself see it too."   
  
"Thank you, Janesch," she murmured, pulling back. "Thank you for being my friend."   
  
"Write me tomorrow,  _oui_? No sulking allowed, little ghost."   
  
Wraith smiled weakly and shook her head. "I'll write," she promised.   
  
Janesch hesitated and then slowly leaned forward to kiss her forehead. "Take care," he said, "and step carefully; I do not want you to get in trouble for tonight."   
  
"I'll do my best."   
  
  
  
  
Wraith slipped into Slytherin Manor as softly as a ghost, though she knew that the Dark Lord would have felt her return nonetheless. The silence that stained the halls was thick and suffocating after what she had left. Wraith prayed that Voldemort had learned what he needed from the prisoners, but something told her that those of the Order were not as easily broken as the traitorous Death Eaters had been.   
  
Without thinking about it, Wraith climbed the stairs to her Lord's tower, rather than her own. At his door, she hesitated, wondering if she dared knock, but before she had decided, she heard his voice. "Enter." Wraith breathed deep and pushed open the door.   
  
The Dark Lord sat behind his desk, which was still covered in books and scrolls. His red eyes flashed in the dim light of room as they came to rest upon her.   
  
"Correct me if I am wrong, my Wraith," he said, his voice soft and low, "but did I not tell you that you were not to Apparate? Did I not tell you not to waste your power so?"   
  
"You did, my Lord," Wraith whispered, still standing across the room from him. "I disobeyed you. I am sorry for it." She slowly lifted her eyes to meet his. "I couldn't stay here."   
  
"Come closer," he ordered.   
  
Wraith crossed the room, not taking her eyes from his. In front of the desk, she stopped, hands clasped behind her back. Voldemort stood from his chair and walked around the desk to her. He did not say anything, but touched a hand under chin, lifting her face to the light.   
  
"My Lord," she said softly, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I'm so weak. Please forgive me."   
  
"Where did you go?"   
  
"I went out with Janesch," she admitted.   
  
Voldemort let out a hiss of displeasure and released her. He turned away and Wraith wrapped her arms over her stomach.   
  
"Such disobedience usually earns my followers a great deal of pain," Voldemort said, standing before the fireplace.   
  
Wraith said nothing, but she stiffened, waiting for the pain she was so sure would come. But nothing happened. She looked over to him, unsurprised to see him watching her.   
  
"I deserve the punishment, my Lord," she said hesitantly. "I will not argue that."   
  
"That is good," Voldemort said, crossing back to her. "That is very good, my pet. But I will not drain you of magic to punish you. I need you strong, after all."   
  
"Did she break, my Lord?" Wraith asked.   
  
"Not yet," Voldemort said with a slight scowl. "But she will." He brushed her cheek, barely touching her skin. "Another price, I think, for your disobedience." He leaned down and Wraith lifted her face to his, letting his mouth brush against hers for a moment.   
  
"Wait," she murmured. His eyes narrowed in irritation, but Wraith moved quickly to the desk. She pulled herself up to sit on the edge of it and held a hand out towards him. "You're too tall," she told him with the slightest smile.   
  
Voldemort did not return the smile, but moved to stand before her. He put a hand on her waist and his face was suddenly so much closer. "Better?" she asked in a whisper, her lips just barely touching his.   
  
"Better," he conceded. He kissed her again, slowly at first, as if he meant to savor the taste of her. Wraith felt a sigh escape her and thought once more that maybe, just maybe, it wouldn't be as bad as she thought. She touched her hand to his face and tilted her head, kissing him back despite her reservations. His mouth devoured hers in a heartbeat and Wraith wrapped her arm around his neck to keep her balance. She felt her breath catch and a small noise of surprise escaped her, but she did her best not to fight him. But when he pulled her closer still, almost crushing her to him, panic suddenly exploded in her chest and she felt herself go rigid in his arms.   
  
 _I can't. I can't. I can't!_    
  
Voldemort felt her stiffen and pulled back, ire flashing across his face. The ire faded to a dark sort of curiosity when he saw the pure panic in her eyes. He tilted his head to one side and considered her. She was very determinedly avoiding his eyes. "Did I frighten you, pet?" the Dark Lord asked slowly.   
  
"Yes," Wraith said simply, still gazing down at the floor.   
  
He smiled darkly and leaned towards her once more. But he was stopped as Wraith pressed a hand to his chest, keeping the distance between them.   
  
"I can't." The words escaped her in a rush, but she forced herself to look at him. "I can't," she repeated, "I can't give you what you want. I wish I could––"   
  
"What stops you?" His voice was low and very nearly a growl.   
  
"I can't tell you," she whispered, closing her eyes.   
  
Voldemort grabbed her shoulder and forcibly pushed her down against the desk with a sudden sharp movement. Wraith gave a short scream as her head slammed against the hardwood of the desk. The Dark Lord kept her pinned there, looming over her. Wraith trembled beneath him, her eyes shut tight. Voldemort paused when he saw a line of blood at the corner of his Wraith's mouth. It took him a moment to realize that she was biting her tongue to keep from screaming further.   
  
With a disgusted sigh, he released her, stepping away from the desk. Wraith lay still for a moment before she slowly sat up. Eyes still closed, she touched a hand to the blood at her mouth. She was still trembling.   
  
"Get out."   
  
Wraith winced at the anger and frustration in her Lord's terse words. Without a sound, she slipped off of the desk and ran across the room to the door, slamming it shut behind her.


	48. Hunger Pain

_"I no doubt deserved my enemies, but I don't believe I deserved my friends."_  
  
  
  
  
The room was dark, windowless, and set far below the ground. The air within was dank and stifling. But its inhabitant had no need to breath. There was the faintest taste of old blood in the stagnant air, but that was quickly dispersed when the heavy iron door was pushed open from the outside.   
  
The room's inhabitant opened one eye to glance at the door. There was the flash of a lighter's flame and then the only source of light within the room was the orange glow of the end of a cigarette.   
  
" _Bonsoir, monsieur_  Rafe."   
  
"Evening, vampire," Rafe replied. "Sleep well?"   
  
"Like the dead,  _monsieur_ ," Janesch said with a smirk, "as usual." He held out the pack in his hand, " _Voulez celui_?"   
  
"No thanks," Rafe said, waving a hand. He held up an envelope. "This just arrived for you," he said, arching an eyebrow. "You're going to end up pissing the Dark Lord off, you know. Still chasing after his Wraith?"   
  
" _Balourd_ ," Janesch said lightly. "I'm not chasing anyone. The girl is a friend. She needed a friend." He gestured for the letter. "Give it here, wolf, and none of your teasing."   
  
Rafe gave a barking laugh and handed the letter over. "Don't overstep yourself and get yourself killed, vampire," Rafe said, "I'm just starting to get used to you."   
  
" _Merci_ , Rafe," Janesch said, turning his attention to the letter. Rafe rolled his eyes to the stone ceiling and left the room.   
  
  
 _Janesch,  
  
I'm writing as promised, but I don't think it's a good idea for me to see you again so soon. The Dark Lord is…rather angry with me at the moment. Thank you for last night. I think I owe you my continued sanity, damaged as it is anyway. I'll write again tomorrow.   
  
Wraith _  
  
  
Janesch drew a drag from the cigarette, a dark mood overcoming him.  _Ah, ma petite_ , he thought bitterly. He stood, adding the letter to the pile in a desk drawer.  _You're not going to be happy with me about this._    
  
With a sigh, he left the darkness of his room and sanctuary to venture out into the night. Let the wolves think he'd gone to see Wraith again. It was probably best that they didn't know where he was going anyhow.   
  
  
  
  
It took him a moment longer than it should have to realize that he was no longer alone in the room. Voldemort turned swiftly, his wand on the figure lounging against the doorframe.   
  
" _Bonsoir_ ," Janesch said, his face unusually grave. "Please forgive the intrusion, Dark Lord."   
  
"Tell me why I shouldn't kill you where you stand."   
  
Janesch shrugged. "I have no good answer for you," he admitted, "Other than the fact that it would upset your Wraith. But as devoted as she is to you, she would no doubt get over it."   
  
Curious, Voldemort lowered his wand. "Does my Wraith know you're here?"   
  
"She does not," Janesch replied. "It is for the best that she does not." He pushed away from the doorframe and took several steps into the room. "Wraith has likely told you that it was to me she ran last night. She did not speak of what had upset her, but…judging from the scent of fresh blood downstairs, I believe that I can guess."   
  
"Can you?"   
  
"Your Wraith does not like torture, does she?" Janesch asked, not expecting an answer. "I saw that the night I met her."   
  
Voldemort did not reply, but sat behind his desk, watching the vampire with an inquiring eye. "Why are you here?" he asked slowly.   
  
"I came to speak to you of Wraith, to…discuss several things I have noticed. Your Wraith is an odd mixture of strength and fragility, Dark Lord. I come not to speak of her strength, but her weakness."   
  
"Weakness?"   
  
"To be more specific; her fear of touch."   
  
Something flashed in the Dark Lord's eyes, an edge of irritation and frustration that Janesch read clearly if only for that moment.   
  
"Now, she grows more comfortable with it over time. She seems to trust me enough not to flinch from me. And I've never seen her avoid your hand. But with me and, perhaps even with you, she has limits. Wraith has told me only a little of her past," Janesch continued. "But what I know is that she spent most of her life in Azkaban, awaiting your return, under the care of her 'Watcher'."   
  
"She's told you more than she's told most others," Voldemort said, his eyes narrowing.   
  
"She doesn't have many to really talk to. Unless I'm mistaken, Dark Lord, you and I are it." The vampire shrugged lightly.   
  
"Get to the point, vampire. You are wasting my time."   
  
"Very well," Janesch said. "Her dislike and discomfort of being touched must stem from something. She does not speak the words, and she is careful not to call him by name, but I've read between the lines. Your Wraith has an extreme…aversion to one Dominic Gavin." Janesch approached the desk and leaned his hands upon the surface. "I wondered if it had occurred to you that the two might be related."   
  
A silence fell, the words hanging in the air between them.    
  
Finally, Voldemort spoke, "You suggest––"   
  
"I do more than suggest. I accuse." Janesch swallowed the growl in his throat and continued. "There are lines which you do not cross, even in a world such as ours. I believe that your Gavin has left several in his wake."   
  
Voldemort sat back in his chair, one hand resting over his mouth as he thought.    
  
 _"I do not care for Gavin, my Lord. I would prefer it if he left me alone."  
  
"If you are angry with him for placing you in Azkaban…"  
  
"No, my Lord, I know he did that on your orders. I do not begrudge that to either of you. How could I? Still…I'd appreciate it if he would keep his distance."   
  
"What _do _you begrudge him, my Wraith?"_    
  
"Why wouldn't she tell me then?" he murmured, more to himself than to Janesch. "Why not tell me now?"   
  
"Fear, my Lord," Janesch spoke softly. "You are, if I may so, an impossible man to predict. Perhaps she feared that after the telling, you would not value her as highly as you do now. She told me of the plans to marry her off. It could be that she fears you would give her to Gavin, since he had already had the taste of her."   
  
"And tell me, vampire," Voldemort said, "what if Gavin hasn't crossed that line? What if you are wrong?"   
  
"I very well may be," Janesch admitted. "I doubt it, but I may be." He sighed and straightened. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but––Your Wraith will not speak of it willingly––Back her into a corner and trap him as well. Make her confront him. Make him confess."   
  
Again, Voldemort was silent, considering the words. "Why does this concern you?" he demanded.   
  
"I like her," Janesch said simply. "She makes things interesting. I came to you about this because you are her world. You are her god. She needs you. She needs to know that you will stand for her––if only because she belongs to you."   
  
Voldemort breathed deeply and then stood. "Get out," he said. "I will think on what you have said, but get out."   
  
Janesch bowed low and turned for the door. At the threshold, he paused, glancing back.   
  
"She's hungry for affection, your Wraith," he said. "Be patient, Dark Lord…and she'll be anything you want her to be."   
  
On those words, Janesch disappeared through the door before Voldemort could react to them.    
  
  
  
  
"You called for me, my Lord?"   
  
"Yes," Voldemort said, looking from the fire to where Gavin stood. "I have a proposition for you, Gavin. One might consider a reward for your services regarding my Wraith."   
  
Voldemort watched the dark light appear in Gavin's eyes, but also sensed the man's hesitance.   
  
"I have spoken to my Wraith about the continuation of her bloodline. You would be the most obvious choice to serve as a husband…and father."   
  
"M-my Lord," Gavin said, his eyes wide. "T'would be an honor to be so considered. I would be proud."   
  
"I've no doubt," Voldemort said darkly. "But I speak, of course, of the future. My Wraith is useful where she is, and young yet."   
  
"Of course, my Lord."   
  
"She does not like you, Gavin," the Dark Lord reminded the man. "Fix that…and we see about the future." He gestured to the door, silently dismissing him.   
  
Gavin gave his Lord a deep bow as he backed away from him and towards the door.   
  
Voldemort watched the man go from the corner of his eye…and wondered.


	49. Watcher I

_"No passion so effectually robs the mind of all its powers of acting and reasoning as fear."_  
  
  
  
  
Wraith sat in the chair she'd pulled closer to the window, gazing at the sky beyond. She'd spent the better part of two days hiding in her tower, her only outside contact with the house-elves who brought her food and drink.   
  
The Dark Lord had spent a great deal of time away from the Manor. Wraith missed him, but at the same time, she dreaded being alone with him again. She had expected him to be furious with her, but there had been so sign of punishment. With each passing hour, she waited. But he did not come to her tower, and he did not call for her.   
  
Every time she thought of that night, the fear and dread, the pain and confusion of it all returned. She could still hear the screams from the dungeon, still smell Clara's perfume, remember the horror in Janesch's eye when he realize the source of her fear.   
  
She breathed.   
  
The afternoon sun was warm through the glass, the first hint of clear weather in weeks. Wraith curled up in the chair like a cat and let her pale skin take in the sunlight.   
  
Her relative calm vanished the moment she heard a soft knock at her door. Wary, she stood and crossed to open it. A breath of relief escaped her when she saw Bede. She smiled hesitantly.   
  
"Oh, Bede. You're later than usual. Is everything alright?"   
  
The house-elf entered the room, setting a covered tray upon the table. "Everything's fine, Miss."   
  
Something in the elf's voice betrayed the lie. Wraith knelt before him, taking his pointed chin in her hand.   
  
"Bede, don't ever lie to me," she told him softly. "Tell me what's happened."   
  
Bede shook his head, or tried to, but she held tight, not letting him look away. "A new resident, Miss."   
  
"What's he done?"   
  
Bede clamped his mouth shut and shook his head again. Wraith realized, "You've been ordered not to speak against him, haven't you?"   
  
Bede nodded, relieved. Wraith stood and stepped back, giving the elf space to breathe again. "Who is it?" she asked him. "Another Death Eater?"   
  
"Yes, Miss," Bede said carefully.   
  
"Do you know his name?"   
  
"Master called him Gavin, Miss."   
  
The world tilted and Wraith grabbed the edge of the table to keep from falling.   
  
"Miss? Miss, are you alright?"   
  
She heard his worried question as if through a fog. She stumbled away from the table towards the door. As she reached the top of the stairs, everything came flooding back. Her heart racing she ran down the spiraling steps.   
  
 _No, no, no!_  
  
She hurried through the musty halls of the Manor, her first thought to go to the Dark Lord's tower. But even as the thought occurred to her, she realized that he wasn't in the Manor at all. The realization paralyzed her and she came to a sudden stop in the middle of the hall. If Gavin was truly within the Manor…there was no one there to stand between them.   
  
 _"Not this time, little girl…You and I have unfinished business."_  
  
Wraith pressed a hand to her heart. "Breathe," she told herself in a whisper. She inhaled deeply, trying to find the calm she had achieved in Azkaban.  _I'm out of practice_ , she thought with the smallest touch of humor.   
  
When her heartbeat finally returned to normal, Wraith made her way down to the entrance hall. Rowle or Wormtail were usually about in there midday––She might find her answers through them.   
  
Rowle was sitting on the couch before the empty fireplace, a scowl fixed upon his face. The scowl faded briefly when he saw her in the doorway and he nodded to her by way of greeting.   
  
"Afternoon, Rowle," Wraith said, stepping inside. "Do you know when the Dark Lord will return?"   
  
Rowle opened his mouth to reply, but someone else's voice beat him to it. "Oh, he won't be back until nightfall, at least."   
  
Wraith stiffened and Rowle's scowl returned full force.   
  
Gavin stepped away from the window, smirking as he looked Wraith over. "Hello, pet. Are you alright? You look a little…pale."   
  
Wraith didn't move. Her eyes locked upon Gavin, she murmured, "Rowle?"   
  
"He's telling the truth," Rowle said, glancing between them, "Dark Lord said he'd be back tonight."   
  
"Thank you, Rowle," Wraith said, turning on her heel.   
  
Gavin scowled and followed her out into the hall. "Hey!" he shouted as he reached her. "Just a minute, ducky," he said, grabbing her arm. "I'm not through with you yet. We need to have a talk, you and I."   
  
"I have nothing to say to you," Wraith told him shortly. She pulled her arm free, surprised that he had not held her tighter.   
  
"I believe you'll want to hear this, love," Gavin said as she walked away from him. "The Dark Lord and I have been discussing your future."   
  
Wraith stopped. "You've always lied to me, Watcher," she whispered. "Why should I believe you now?"  
  
"Come now, ducky, I haven't  _always_  lied to you," Gavin said. "You are far too cruel."  
  
"Don't speak to me of cruelty, Watcher," Wraith hissed, turning her head. "You've no notion of how cruel I could be."  
  
"Ah, but our Lord's orders prevent you from showing me, don't they?" Gavin asked mockingly.  
  
"For now," Wraith replied roughly. "Your presence here alone suggests that his orders are subject to change."  
  
"But don't you find interesting that I am here and have been here for almost two days…and he has not rescinded your orders?"  
  
There was a flash of panic in her eyes before she turned her head away again.  
  
Gavin smiled in satisfaction, but before he could take a step towards, she was gone, running up the stairs and out of sight. He grimaced and felt his hands clench into fists at his sides. "Soon," he murmured to himself. "Soon, princess, you won't be able to hide away in your tower."  
  
  
  
  
Voldemort entered his tower, the room without fire or candle to dispel the darkness. He crossed to his desk and lit the single candle upon its surface.   
  
Without turning, he said, "Come down, pet."   
  
Wraith hesitated, sitting halfway up the thin metal staircase that led to the higher bookshelves.   
  
"Wraith," the Dark Lord said warningly, glancing at her.   
  
"Why is Gavin here?" she asked hurriedly.   
  
Voldemort's eyes narrowed. There was an edge of panic in the girl's voice. "It is not your place to question my orders, my Wraith," he said in reply, "Especially when they don't concern you."   
  
Wraith's pale eyes seemed to almost glow in the darkness.   
  
"You told me that he was to stay away from me," she reminded him, her fingers twisting the dark beads at her throat.   
  
"That is no longer practical," Voldemort said. "I need him here. I will not reorder the world to your comfort. I see no reason to."   
  
"Why do you need him  _here_?" she asked softly, almost desperately.    
  
"He's here to assist Rowle with the prisoners," Voldemort said. "He does have some experience, after all." He saw the shudder pass through her and turned his back on her. "If that is all…"   
  
"But Gavin––!"   
  
"Gavin what?" Voldemort demanded, turning back. He walked to the staircase, his eyes nearly level with hers as they met through the metal bars of the railing. "Gavin…what?" he repeated slowly.   
  
The panic and fear in her broken eyes slowly dimmed to something akin to resignation. "…Nothing," she whispered. "It's nothing." She stood and climbed down the steps, not lifting her eyes from the floor as she crossed to the door.   
  
At the door, she paused, one hand upon the frame. She opened her mouth to speak…by the expression on her face, the Dark Lord expected another question…but then she seemed to change her mind. "Forgive my impertinence, my Lord," she said, looking over her shoulder at him. "It will not happen again."   
  
The door shut softly behind her.


	50. Watcher II

_"If you can't get rid of the skeleton in your closet, you'd best teach it to dance."_  
  
  
  
  
Over the next few days, an air of foreboding permeated the walls of the Manor. Those within all felt it, though those like Rowle and Wormtail, who had no real idea of what was happening. It was like the calm before the storm, but no one knew what the storm would bring. Wraith barely left her tower and when she did, she crept around the halls like a ghost. She never gave Gavin the chance to catch her alone. Nor did she seek out the Dark Lord's company or his protection. In fact, she seemed to avoid him as she did Gavin.   
  
It wasn't until the night that the Dark Lord called his Death Eaters to the Manor that anyone saw her for longer than a moment.   
  
Voldemort sat in a chair before the fire, one hand drumming impatiently upon the armrest. Rowle, Wormtail, and Gavin were already seated when Wraith silently entered the room, eyes upon the floor. There was a moment when she lifted her eyes to Voldemort's that the room seemed to hold its breath.   
  
The Dark Lord made the smallest of gestures and Wraith crossed to him, settling at his feet as she always did, with an air of relief and gratitude. She moved with more caution than before––but rested her hand beside his on the armrest. Without looking at her, Voldemort touched his hand to her hair briefly, as he had always done.   
  
Wraith allowed herself a small smile before slipping behind her usual mask of indifference.   
  
Gavin, sitting nearby, caught her eye and leered at her. Wraith's mask didn't crack, but she shifted slightly, putting the Dark Lord more between them.   
  
"One might believe that Death wouldn't cower behind anyone's skirts," Gavin said cuttingly. "How interesting to find it isn't so."   
  
Wraith's eyes narrowed, but she said nothing. It turned out that she didn't have to.   
  
"Ah," Snape said from the doorway, having heard Gavin's words, "A man with a sharp wit. Someone ought to take it from him before he cuts himself."   
  
Gavin flushed a dark red color and started to rise to his feet, one hand bringing his wand from his robes.   
  
"Remain in your seat, Gavin," Voldemort ordered indifferently.   
  
Gavin's color deepened, but he sat back down without a word.   
  
Snape settled into a chair adjacent to the Dark Lord's. Wraith caught his eye, seeing a satisfied gleam to them, and she realized that Snape did not like Gavin any more than she did. Their gazes held for a long moment. Snape read her puzzlement easily enough, but then she quickly looked away. Throughout the meeting, she never brought her eyes back to his again.   
  
Snape wondered if she resented his stepping in. She had been grateful that week before, but––  _"Don't! ...Don't touch me––Don't help me..."_ She had her pride, for all that she was barely older than a child.   
  
And was he imagining the tension in her as she sat at her Lord's feet? Usually the connection between them was clear, but now it seemed…strangely muddled. She didn't meet Voldemort's eyes as he spoke…In fact she kept her eyes either on the floor or on the fire, as if she weren't even listening to him.   
  
 _Something to consider_ , he thought to himself as the meeting came to a close.   
  
Around the room, the Death Eaters got to their feet and shuffled out. A few minutes later, the only ones left in the room besides himself were the Dark Lord, Wraith, and Gavin.   
  
"Gavin," Voldemort said, a touch of impatience in his tone, "You would do better to keep a civil tongue in your head if you cannot keep your temper in check. Severus's response was no more cutting than yours, if a touch more clever."   
  
Wraith smirked and briefly laid her forehead against the Dark Lord's arm to hide it. Gavin flushed once more, but wisely remained silent. He nodded curtly in response.    
  
"Now," the Dark Lord said, looking between his Wraith and Gavin, "If the two of you will excuse us…There is something I must discuss with Severus alone."   
  
Wraith's eyes snapped from Voldemort's face to Gavin's in such a sudden motion that it drew both Snape and the Dark Lord's attention. Gavin stood without argument, a predatory gleam in his eye as he crossed to the door and opened it. He stood there, holding the door open, and gestured for Wraith to go ahead of him.   
  
At first, Wraith did not move. She didn't even stand. Her eyes locked with Gavin's, she felt as if something had hollowed out her chest in one fell swoop. All the time she had spent making sure that she wouldn't be alone with Gavin for longer than a moment…  
  
"Wraith."  
  
The Dark Lord's tone brooked no argument. Not taking her eyes from Gavin, she stood slowly. She took one step towards the door before she glanced back to Voldemort, the question plain in her pale broken eyes. Voldemort looked up at her, nothing in his face telling her his thoughts. The apathy in his expression struck her like a blow. Once more, that sense of resignation filled her eyes and she lowered them to the floor as she curtsied slightly.   
  
"My Lord," she murmured softly, just on the edge of audible.   
  
Without lifting her eyes from the floor, she strode to the door in quick steps and passed Gavin as if he were nothing more than a shadow on the wall. Gavin, his eyes following her intently, slipped out of the room as well, closing the door behind him.   
  
Snape frowned slightly and looked to Voldemort in question. The Dark Lord slowly shook his head. "Do not interfere, Severus," the Dark Lord said quietly. "My Wraith can take care of herself…and there is more to this than what is seen."  
  
A rather eerie echo of Gavin's words from their previous encounter. But Snape nodded with a vague disinterest and allowed Voldemort to change the subject without objection.   
  
  
  
  
Gavin quickly caught up with Wraith on the stairway. "Wait up, my little love," he said silkily. "Don't you think it's time you and I had a private chat? You must be dying to know what the Dark Lord has promised me."   
  
"You are a fool to take our Lord's promises for granted," Wraith snapped, not slowing her pace. "He is known to change his mind as he pleases, or as his needs require."   
  
"This a promise held over years," Gavin told her sharply. "When you were put in my care––"   
  
"I don't believe you," Wraith said simply, and she didn't.   
  
With that realization, she glanced at him, actually pausing in her walk to look at him.  _He doesn't know_ , she realized with the faintest touch of hope.  _He doesn't know what has passed between the Dark Lord and I…If the Dark Lord made any promises at all––which I doubt––they were recently made._  
  
Gavin scowled and grabbed her by the arm, driving a quick bolt of panic through her heart. He spun her 'round and pressed her back against the wall. Wraith's breath came in short bursts as he put his face close to hers. "You can doubt and taunt me all you like, princess," Gavin told her, his voice a whisper, "But whether you like it or not, you  _will_  be mine."   
  
His free hand brushed her cheek and she jerked her head to the side with a small sound. Gavin chuckled darkly and the hand drifted down Wraith's side, barely touching her at all. But Wraith became like stone at his touch, on the edge of a panic attack. Her vision clouded with black and she fought to clear her mind.   
  
"Let me go," she said, her voice weak and shaking. "Watcher, let me go."   
  
"No," Gavin murmured, smiling at her. Wraith drew breath to scream and choked on it rather than letting it pass her lips. What good would it do? Even if Gavin didn't speak the truth of the Dark Lord's promise, Voldemort was still unhappy with her. Why would he help her now? The thought took that last snippet of hope from her and she slumped against the wall.  _I'm on my own,_  she thought.  _Just like before…nothing between him and I…Nothing to stop him from…_    
  
A sudden rage filled her mind and she closed her hand around the hilt of the dagger at her waist. She drew it in one sharp motion and pressed the edge against Gavin's throat. The man turned white and froze.   
  
"You…you wouldn't! The Dark Lord––"   
  
"The Dark Lord ordered me not to use my magic against you," Wraith reminded him, her voice still shaky. "He said nothing about more conventional weapons." She pressed the dagger more firmly against his skin, drawing a thin line of blood. "Step away from me," she ordered harshly.   
  
"You won't kill me," Gavin sneered, staying still.   
  
"No," Wraith agreed, surprising him, "But I  _will_  hurt you, Watcher. Now step away from me."   
  
Gavin waited half a beat more before he slowly took a step back. He looked her over as he raised a hand to the shallow cut at his throat. "This isn't over, princess," he said, glad to see that she was still trembling. He smiled darkly and turned on his heel, continuing down the hall away from her.   
  
The blade slipped from between her numb fingers and fell to the floor. Wraith let out a soft sob and quickly pressed a hand to her lips, biting down to keep herself from crying. She trembled where she stood and slowly slid down the wall to the floor, collapsing beside the dagger.   
  
"You surprise me," said a quiet voice from in front of her.  
  
Wraith's eyes snapped open. She hadn't heard him approach. She slowly lifted her eyes to meet Snape's, unsurprised by the slight contempt in them. Wraith scowled and quickly looked away.   
  
"Go away," she all but pleaded.  
  
Snape stood over her, seemingly indifferent to her weakness and tarnished pride.   
  
"Fear is a most effective weapon," he told her. "But only when your opponent allows you to use it. As I said, you surprise me, Lady Wraith."   
  
"What do you want?" Wraith demanded of him.   
  
"I want nothing," Snape said with a shrug. "I'm simply making an observation."  
  
Wraith looked up at him in disbelief. "…If you've more to say, then say it," she said at last. "You have my full attention."   
  
"Dominic Gavin is a capable wizard," Snape said. "He is exceedingly clever at manipulations and his skill has served him well among us. But there are many capable wizards within our ranks." He slowly knelt so that his head was level with hers. "You, however, are singular. You are unique. More than that, you are the Dark Lord's killing hand. His left as I am his right. Now tell me, Lady Wraith––Why do you allow a bug like Dominic Gavin to affect you this way?"  
  
Wraith blinked slowly and she suddenly felt as thought she were on solid ground once more. But still… "What would you have me do?" she asked weakly. "The Dark Lord has forbidden me from harming Gavin with my power, and I doubt he will look kindly to my little stunt with the dagger either. And Gavin will keep hounding me."   
  
"He uses your fear against you," Snape said lightly. "I've found that the best defense to fear…is indifference. You give him far too much power, making your fear of him obvious. Treat him like the bug he is. When he tries to frighten you, give him nothing but your scorn."  
  
"I don't know if I can do that," she said, surprising herself with the honesty of it.  
  
"I think your pride demands that you do," Snape countered, raising an eyebrow.  
  
Wraith silently considered him, tilting her head to one side. "Why do you help me?" she asked him then, "Today…and that day last week…Why?"  
  
"I don't like men like Gavin," Snape said. "I think that the Dark Lord can do better when it comes to those that serve him."  
  
"…But you don't like  _me_  either," Wraith said. "Why not leave me to rot?"  
  
Snape blinked at her. "How have you come to that conclusion?"   
  
"I see it in your eyes," Wraith replied. "Most people that I have know are afraid of me, and in many of them, their fear makes them hate me. But I have never seen that fear in your eyes, nor that hatred, nor even your…indifference," she added with the slightest of smirks.  
  
"And what _do_  you see in my eyes?"  
  
"Judgment," Wraith answered simply. "I see judgment. You judge me, Severus Snape, silently. And I have wondered why. What have I done in our Dark Lord's name that you haven't? What line have I crossed in your eye?"  
  
Snape did not reply. Had he slipped so far as to let her see it? She spoke the truth, but he hadn't realized his feelings until that moment. "I…am unsure what to say to you," he told her slowly.   
  
"You've said enough, I think," Wraith said. "It does not matter so much." She shifted and slowly got to her feet, using the wall to support herself. "Thank you for your advice," she said softly. "I may very well take it." She knelt to retrieve her blade and sheathed it. "Goodnight, Severus," she added in a whisper before she disappeared down the hall.   
  
Snape watched her go…and he couldn't help but wonder what else the girl had seen in him. A cold chill ran down his spine. He had not realized how observant the child was. It made her all the more dangerous in the end…


	51. Watcher III

_"The more things change, the more they remain... insane."_  
  
  
  
  
Gavin entered the drawing room with a satisfied smile upon his face. Rowle was seated on the couch, a mug of tea in his hand and a scowl on his ruddy face. The large man's scowl deepened at the sight of Gavin.   
  
"You're not needed here," Rowle told him plainly, the edge of a growl in his deep voice.   
  
"Well, Rowle, as much as I value your opinion on the matter, I value the Dark Lord's more," Gavin retorted, throwing himself back into a chair near the window. "It's a fine morning, isn't it?" Glancing at Rowle's tea, he sneered. "Where is that blasted elf?" he muttered.   
  
He clapped his hands once, the sound sharp enough to make Rowle wince. A moment later, Bede poked his head into the room. The house-elf approached Gavin cautiously, having learned quickly that Gavin was likely to hit him to encourage speed.   
  
"Yes, Master Gavin?"   
  
"Coffee, this morning," Gavin ordered lazily. "Be quick about it, little toe-rag." But as the elf bowed and started away, Gavin caught the glint of something in his eye. Quick as a snake, his hand snapped out and grabbed Bede's arm. "Now what do you look so pleased about, elf?" he demanded.   
  
"Gavin, don't manhandle the servants," came a snide voice from the doorway. "It's rather counter-productive."   
  
Wraith stepped into the room, twisting a lock of her dark hair absently around her fingers. "Good morning, Rowle," she added, glancing at the man on the couch.   
  
Rowle and Gavin both blinked at her. Her dress was midnight black, with a bluish sheen set off by the ice-blue corset set around her slim form. The corset was pale enough to make the men look twice to make sure the girl wasn't wearing white.   
  
But it wasn't really color or the dress that set them on edge, Rowle realized belatedly––It was the look in her eyes. There was a sharpness to her that he'd only seen in her when she played the role of Lady Death. And now those sharp eyes lay on Gavin. With a grim sort of humor, Rowle smiled and nodded his head to Wraith. "Good morning, milady," he replied evenly.   
  
"Gavin, let the elf go," Wraith instructed languidly, "else he won't be able to fetch your coffee."   
  
Gavin slowly released Bede's arm and sat back, his dark eyes wary as they followed Wraith around the room. Her movements betrayed no fear, not even a trace of nerves. She settled into a chair across the room, sweeping her skirts around her feet. Bede approached her and whispered something that the men could not hear. Wraith nodded absently, her eyes drifting to the sky outside. The house-elf bowed to her and then left the room to the humans. Gavin's eyes never left Wraith.   
  
After what appeared to be a moment's thought, he stood and slowly crossed to her, sitting in a chair closer to where she idled.   
  
"Yes, Gavin?" she said softly, not bothering to look at him.   
  
"Oh, nothing, nothing," Gavin murmured. "I just wanted to look at you. You've been hiding away in your tower for more than a week now. I've missed looking at you."   
  
"Look all you please," Wraith said evenly, slowly bringing her eyes to his. A glimmer of dark humor shadowed her unusual eyes. "I'd recommend that you keep your distance though."   
  
"Naturally," Gavin said with the slightest smile.   
  
Wraith held his gaze for a moment before looking out the window once more. In the silence that fell, a thin scream echoed up from below. Wraith closed her eyes at the sound. Rowle stood quickly, setting his tea aside. He glanced at where Wraith and Gavin sat and waited until Wraith opened her eyes again.   
  
"I have to check," he said, his gaze upon Wraith alone.   
  
 _Has my fear been so bloody obvious?_  
  
Wraith nodded in understanding and Rowle went down to the dungeons.   
  
"Aren't you supposed to be helping him?" Wraith asked in an undertone.   
  
"I think he can handle it alone this morning," Gavin replied. "What are you up to, princess?"   
  
Wraith looked at him and slowly smiled thinly. "I've no idea what you mean," she said innocently.   
  
"Don't play stupid, princess," Gavin hissed. "It doesn't suit you."   
  
The smile never faltered, but she said nothing.   
  
"What's in that clever little mind of yours?" Gavin asked, watching her intently.   
  
"My thoughts are my own, Watcher," she replied softly. "I've no need to share them with you."   
  
Gavin's hand lashed out and grabbed her wrist. He squeezed hard and leaned closer to her. "Now, you listen here, princess––"   
  
"No," Wraith told him, turning hard eyes to him. "No, Watcher, I've no intention of listening to your poisoned tongue. Release me."   
  
Gavin's confidence faltered. The look in her eyes, the tone of her voice…The fear and discomfort he always saw in her when he touched her wasn't there. There wasn't even a threat to her words… she'd said them so straightforwardly.   
  
Slowly, Gavin released his hold on her and sat back. He expected her to stand and leave once she was free––But no, she simply turned her eyes away again.   
  
Bede appeared in the doorway, balancing a tray over his head. He set the tray on the small table near Gavin's chair and stepped back, bowing as he left the room once more. Gavin hesitated and then reached to pour himself a cup of coffee from the pot the elf had brought.   
  
But as he brought the cup to his lips, he hesitated. He slammed the cup back on the tray and scowled at Wraith. But before he could accuse, she slowly shook her head.   
  
"Drink your coffee, Watcher," she said with a slight sneer. "I've not poisoned it."   
  
Gavin's scowled deepened as he heard the edge of laughter in her voice. Still glowering, he gulped down the coffee. Wraith glanced at him and then laughed despite her efforts not to.   
  
"Oh, shut it," he snapped. "I wouldn't have put it past you to do away with me without your magic. For all I knew, you bribed that elf to do your dirty work."   
  
"What makes you think that the elf wouldn't have poisoned you on his own?" Wraith asked easily. "You're not at all popular with the servants here, Watcher."   
  
"I've no need to coddle the little toe-rag the way you do, princess," Gavin said, sniping.   
  
"Haven't you ever heard that you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar?"   
  
Gavin opened his mouth to retort, but then he paused. His dark eyes narrowed as he considered her words. Had there been more meaning in that than the obvious?   
  
"…Have I given you nothing but vinegar, princess?" he asked softly.   
  
"You've given me bile, Watcher," Wraith retorted, rolling her eyes. "Believe me when I tell you, there isn't enough honey in the world to sweeten you to me."   
  
She stood suddenly and was at the doorway before Gavin realized it. He scrambled up to follow and caught up with her halfway to the front doors.   
  
"You're almost being sociably with me this morning," he commented. "Does this mean that you're done fighting the Dark Lord's will concerning me?"   
  
Wraith paused and turned back to him. She shrugged easily. "I've decided to play the cards that life has dealt me, that's all."   
  
"Truly?"   
  
Wraith smiled slowly. "Don't look so pleased with yourself, Watcher…this game is far from over."   
  
She turned away, a glint of humor still in her eyes. She pulled open the door, but then glanced over her shoulder once more. But this time, her eyes slid right past Gavin and up the stairway behind him. Gavin followed her gaze and started when he saw Voldemort standing at the top of the stairs.   
  
Something seemed to pass between the two of them, the Dark Lord and his Wraith, but not a word was spoken. Wraith's eyes narrowed in something of a silent challenge and she disappeared through the door.   
  
Voldemort came down the stairs, his eyes on the door his Wraith had closed sharply behind her.   
  
Gavin bowed low to the Dark Lord, "My Lord, good morning."   
  
"Gavin," Voldemort said, his voice low. "You should be down below, assisting Rowle."  
  
Gavin paled slightly and hung his head. "Yes, my Lord. My apologies."   
  
Voldemort did not bother to watch the man scramble away. His thoughts had followed his Wraith outside.


	52. Watcher IV

_"Now, now my good man, this is no time for making enemies."  
\- Voltaire (1694-1778) on his deathbed in response to a priest asking that he renounce Satan._  
  
  
  
  
Wraith did not return to the Manor until nightfall, but Voldemort knew she had never actually left the grounds. When she slipped back inside, he was waiting in the drawing room alone. Sensing him, Wraith paused in the doorway to look at him. That sharpness had not left her eyes as she bowed her head to him.   
  
"Evening, my Lord," she said. Her voice was suspiciously light.   
  
"What are you up to, Wraith?"   
  
She blinked and then gave him a Cheshire grin. "You and Gavin are a suspicious lot, aren't you?" she said, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning against the doorframe. "He asked me that very question this morning."   
  
"And did you give him an answer?"   
  
"Of a sort," Wraith said, shrugging. She tilted her head to one side. "Besides…what makes you think I'm up to something?"   
  
"I saw you with Gavin this morning," Voldemort told her.   
  
"And?" There was an almost mocking edge to the word.   
  
" _Enough_ ," the Dark Lord snapped at her. He stood and gestured to the floor before him. "Come  _here_ , Wraith," he ordered.   
  
Wraith's eyes narrowed, but she did as she was told. When she reached him, he reached out to run his hand over her shoulder, his fingers drifting over her bare neck. Was it important that she was not wearing his gift?   
  
"You're playing a game, pet," Voldemort said, dropping his hand. "If you think I cannot see it, then you are more foolish than you appear." He stepped back and sat down once more. "Play all you wish with Gavin, pet, but do not think you can play  _me_  the same way."   
  
Wraith smiled slightly. "I never thought I could, my Lord," she said. "Nor did I intend to suggest it."   
  
Voldemort looked up at her, considering her carefully. "Yes. Yes, you did," he said at last.   
  
The slight smile took a hard edge and the girl shrugged again.   
  
Voldemort's eyes narrowed, but Rowle, Gavin, and Wormtail stepped into the room, so he kept his silence. Wraith glanced at the men as they took seats around the room. "Do you wish for me to remain, my Lord?" she asked him demurely, all hint of sharpness gone.   
  
Voldemort did not answer immediately. "Await me in my tower," he told her. "I will join you there shortly."   
  
Wraith curtsied deeply before turning on her heel and leaving the room. Voldemort watched her go. She had done that on purpose, he realized with a hint of approval.   
  
 _Whatever games my Wraith plays, she won't let it interfere with how others see us. She'll be nothing but mine in the eyes of my Death Eaters…Good girl._    
  
"My Lord?" Gavin murmured softly, drawing the Dark Lord's attention to him and the others.   
  
"Rowle," he said, looking to the large man, "Your report of this morning's events."  
  
  
  
  
When the Dark Lord entered his tower almost an hour later, Wraith was seated on the edge of his desk, waiting patiently. When she saw him, she smiled, but Voldemort still saw the edge in it.  _She's vicious in a temper_ , he remembered then. It was easy to forget when she was so docile with him.   
  
Considering him, she tilted her head to one side. "You're getting a headache," she commented. "Am I partly to blame?"   
  
"Most certainly," Voldemort replied with a slight growl. "But there are also the prisoners below to consider."   
  
"Ah," Wraith sighed.   
  
Voldemort stood before the desk, but did not reach to touch her as he so often did when she was close. There was a palpable distance between them, like a line drawn in the sand.   
  
"Last week you took a knife to Gavin's throat," Voldemort said, glancing at the dagger she still wore at her waist.   
  
"Last week Gavin pressed me against a wall and would not let me go," Wraith replied. "You have forbidden me to use my power against him, my Lord. I would ask that you not take all of my options away."   
  
Voldemort grabbed her chin to hold her gaze on him. She fought not to snarl at him, but he saw the flash of fire in her eyes. "As I was saying," Voldemort murmured, his face inches from hers, "last week, you had a knife on him. But today?"   
  
Wraith pushed his hand away with a grimace. "I'm done cowering."   
  
"Just like that?" Voldemort said, with a disbelieving air. "Gavin's been playing your fear like a finely tuned instrument…and you're just…suddenly done with it?"   
  
"Fear is a superb weapon," she admitted, leaning closer to him, "…but only when your opponent allows you to use it. I've taken one of Gavin's weapons away…And he won't be getting it back."   
  
"I need him alive, Wraith," Voldemort told her.   
  
"I understand that," Wraith all but snapped at him. "And in understanding that, I will not kill him. But don't expect me to simply allow him to walk all over me either." She tilted her head back. "My pride will not allow it," she murmured, meeting his eyes again, "…Neither would yours."   
  
"Ah."   
  
Voldemort turned away from her, but she moved to the edge of the desk and wrapped her arm loosely around his neck, holding him in place without any force behind it.   
  
"Can I ask you a question?" she asked, her lips at his ear.   
  
Voldemort paused, for she hadn't voluntarily been this close to him for weeks. "Don't expect me to answer kindly," he warned her, the edge of a growl in his voice.   
  
Wraith smiled and brought her other arm around him as well. She rested her chin upon his shoulder. "Are you testing me?"   
  
"Am I  _what_?"   
  
"Are…you…testing me?" she repeated slowly. "See, I find the… _timing_  of current events… interesting."   
  
" _Do_  you?" Voldemort murmured, turning his head towards her.   
  
Wraith bit her lip and considered him before she spoke again. "Why is Gavin  _really_  here?" she asked softly. "Rowle's right––He needs no help with the prisoners. Gavin's dead weight."   
  
"I have told you not to question me."   
  
"And here's me doing it anyway," Wraith said, raising an eyebrow. "How about that?"   
  
Voldemort pulled out of her arms with a snarl, turning to face her again. But before he could reprimand her, she grabbed the front of his robes and pulled his face close.   
  
"You ask me what I'm up to. You accuse me of playing a game––And the truth is that I am," she admitted, her eyes wide and almost innocent. "But  _you_  started this game,  _my Lord_. The least you can do is see it through." She released him and sat back, a mocking smile set upon her lips.   
  
Voldemort leaned forward, resting one hand on the desk beside her. Wraith's smile widened and she brushed cool fingertips along his jaw.  
  
"I promise not to kill him," she said playfully. "I'll even resist the urge to maim him. But you let me play," she demanded him softly but firmly. She tilted her head up and her lips brushed his ever so slightly.   
  
Voldemort's eyes narrowed, but he pressed forward, molding his mouth to hers for only a moment. "You can play," he told her, pulling back, "…for now."   
  
Wraith smiled and made a sound that was half laugh and half purr. That hard glint in her eyes sharpened and she slipped off of the desk and around him. She dipped in a mocking curtsy and grinned.   
  
"Watch closely," she told him. "This ought to be very entertaining." She tilted her head to one side as someone knocked on the door behind her. "Ah," she said brightly, "Let the games begin." Before the Dark Lord could stop her, she crossed to the door and pulled it open. "Hello, Watcher."  
  
Gavin paled slightly at the glint in her eyes. He looked past her to Voldemort. "My Lord?"  
  
"Enter, Gavin," Voldemort said dismissively. "She's not going to bite you."  
  
"Of course not," Wraith concurred with a wry smile. "I've better taste than that."   
  
She stepped to the side so that Gavin could walk past her. He hesitated in the doorway a moment longer before he strode forward. As he passed her, however, he turned his head so that he could keep an eye on her as well.   
  
Wraith's wry smile remained. "You know what they say about those that watch their backs, Watcher?"  
  
"What?" Gavin snapped, not taking his eyes from her. But in a blink, she was gone. He yelped when he felt the tip of a blade at his throat.  
  
"They meet Death from the front," she told him, standing before him. With what sounded suspiciously like a giggle, she sheathed the blade again and sauntered past him to the door. "Good night, my Lord," she called over her shoulder.   
  
As the door shut behind her, Gavin turned to the Dark Lord, mouth agape. "What––I–– _She_ …!" The words struggled to be formed through numb lips.   
  
Voldemort couldn't help but smirk, a touch of approval in his eyes.


	53. Watcher V

_"Always acknowledge a fault. This will throw those in authority off their guard and give you an opportunity to commit more."_  
  
  
  
  
The month of October dawned with the return of dark, dreary weather. A dense storm covered the skies in all directions and the rain never seemed to rest. Most within the Manor became reclusive, hiding from the cold in their rooms and huddling near their fires. The dungeons below the Manor were soon coated in a thin layer of ice, leaving the prisoners to suffer further.   
  
Over the course of the cold-ridden weeks, the game went on. To the Dark Lord's surprise, his Wraith never actively sought out Gavin to torment him. In fact, the girl acted as though the man did not exist, even when he was in the same room with her. But she  _had_  been spending more of her time in sight than she ever had before. It was as if she were taunting Gavin with her very presence.   
  
In the midst of the heaviest of the autumn storms, Voldemort found his Wraith sitting in a dark and empty room. She was sitting in a chair before the single window, her only source of light, the occasional flash of lightning outside.   
  
Voldemort paused in the doorway, caught slightly off-guard by the spellbound expression on her face as she watched the rain and lightning beyond the glass.   
  
"Wraith," he called over the rumble of thunder.   
  
"I've never seen one this strong," she whispered, barely audible. "Not outside of Azkaban."   
  
Voldemort crossed the room to stand behind her chair, placing a hand upon her shoulder. For a moment, he too stared outside into the dark. "Your presence is required, my pet," he told her.   
  
"For what?" Wraith replied, eyes still fixed upon the storm.   
  
The Dark Lord frowned slightly, remembering a time only a few months ago that she would not have questioned him at all. "We have new…initiates," he said. "Those who seek to wear the Dark Mark. I want you there."   
  
"Are they here?" she asked.   
  
"They will arrive shortly."   
  
"Should I wear white?" she asked with a hint of dark humor.   
  
Voldemort considered it. "Yes…" he said slowly. "Yes, I believe you should. It is best that they mark you for who and what you are."   
  
Wraith smiled slightly and stood, turning to face him. "Then I will be down shortly, my Lord." She curtsied briefly and strode past him without waiting for his reply.   
  
Voldemort watched her go, and wondered, not for the first time, what his Wraith had planned.   
  
  
  
  
Wraith arrived in the drawing room a few minutes later. Her appearance warranted a number of involuntary shivers from the Death Eaters already assembled there. She had done as her Lord had ordered and donned a gown of snowy white. Her long dark hair was pulled loosely back with a white ribbon and as she crossed to sit in the chair beside the Dark Lord, several thought of how much like a bride she seemed.   
  
The Dark Lord nodded his approval as she settled into the chair to his left. He leaned slightly closer to her and touched a hand to her collarbone. He murmured something to her that no one else could make out, but the girl nodded silently.   
  
She held up her hand and twisted it in midair. A heavy golden chain appeared in her palm, attached to an ornate locket. She slipped the chain around her neck and sat back again. The gold of the locket shone against the white of her dress.   
  
Wraith noted that there was no chair to the Dark Lord's right. "Is Severus not joining us tonight?" she asked in an undertone.   
  
"No," Voldemort said. "I do not need him tonight. I have you."   
  
Around the room, the gathered Death Eaters drew up the hoods of their cloaks and slipped on their masks. The drawing room was dark, its sole illumination coming from the fireplace to the right of where the Dark Lord sat beside his Wraith. The fire seemed to frame them in both shadow and light.   
  
Wraith glanced around and felt a stirring of anticipation course through her.  _How foreboding we all seem_ , she pondered silently.  _It's a wonder that anyone could look at this gathering and not run screaming into the hills_. She smirked and rested her cheek against the palm of her hand, leaning towards the Dark Lord.   
  
Someone in the hall knocked slowly upon the drawing room door.   
  
"Enter," Voldemort commanded.   
  
The door was pulled open and another Death Eater entered silently. Wraith guessed by his tall stature that it was Rowle behind the mask. Behind him were several cloaked figures, differentiated only by the absence of masks. Rowle bowed to the Dark Lord deeply before taking a seat among the others.   
  
Voldemort considered the group that stood near the doorway in contemplative silence. Wraith did the same.  _Do they know_ , she wondered darkly,  _do they realize how close they stand to the abyss?_  
  
Without turning her head, she glanced at the Dark Lord. All waited for his word.   
  
"Come forward," he said at last.   
  
There was a hesitation among the group, but then one figure broke off. He crossed to the Dark Lord and went to one knee before him, his head bowed.   
  
"You would swear allegiance to me," Voldemort said, his quiet voice drifting through the heavy silence of the room. "Swear your complete and utter loyalty to the Dark Lord and his ambitions."   
  
"Y-yes, my Lord," the cloaked figure whispered through dry lips.   
  
"Swear it."   
  
The figure lifted his head slightly, enough for Wraith to make out the face beneath the hood. He was, at most, in his last twenties, his jaw shadowed by a short beard. He was also pale and sweating in the light of the fire. Wraith could all but smell his fear.   
  
"Choose your words carefully," she found herself whispering.   
  
The man's eyes flickered to her and he shivered. Wraith turned her eyes to the rest of the group.   
  
"This is not a game of make-believe," she told them firmly, her voice never rising above that whisper. "If you take this step, there is no going back. Be sure of yourselves and the convictions that brought you here. If you are weak or unsure, it is likely that you will die," she said bluntly. "If you would swear yourselves to our Dark Lord, then you had best  _mean_  it."   
  
She looked again to the man who knelt before Voldemort. His eyes were wide as he stared back at her.   
  
"Will you swear?" Voldemort asked him shortly.   
  
The man swallowed audibly and after a moment, he nodded. "I swear," he said, his voice cracking slightly. "I swear my loyalty to the Dark Lord."   
  
Voldemort held up his hand. "Your arm," he told the man.   
  
The man moved haltingly, but held up his left arm, pulling back the sleeve of his cloak. Voldemort took hold of the man's wrist and brought the tip of his wand to the bare skin of his arm. " _Morsmordre_." There was a hissing sound and the man yelled in sudden pain. He twisted, but the Dark Lord still held his wrist and held him still. After a moment, the man stilled, gasping for breath. Upon his arm, the Dark Mark was burned black. Wraith wondered if she imagined the slight smell of burnt flesh.   
  
"Stand," Voldemort ordered the man. "And welcome to the rank of Death Eater."   
  
Rowle, the closest of the Death Eaters, held out a white mask to the trembling man. The new Death Eater took the mask and put it on, hiding his pale face from the room. He took a seat and was lost among the group, as anonymous as the rest.   
  
And so it went. One by one, the group knelt before the Dark Lord and swore their allegiance. Their ages varied from old to young, and Wraith was slightly surprised to see that two within the group were actually women. Throughout it, she kept her silence, though she sensed that the Dark Lord had approved of her warning to them.   
  
But near the end, as another initiate knelt before Voldemort, she caught sight of his face. She leaned forward and touched a hand to his chin, lifting his face to the light of the fire. He blinked at her in surprise and not just a little fear.   
  
"So young," Wraith murmured. "Are you so certain of yourself? Are you really sure?"   
  
The young man nodded slowly.  _He can't be older than me_ , she thought.  _If anything, he's a year or two younger_. Wraith sighed and released him, leaning back in her chair once more.   
  
The one who followed him had to have been just as young. Wraith wondered if they were friends or brothers. They were the last. When they had taken their seats among the rest of the Death Eaters, Voldemort stood and faced them.   
  
"Welcome, my loyal followers," he said to them. He looked over each masked face, as if he could see past them. It was as if he weighed and measured them with that gaze, searching for and sensing every weakness and vice.   
  
Without another word, he turned, offering a hand to Wraith. She gently placed her hand within his and stood, dipping briefly in a curtsy. The Dark Lord strode out of the room, his Wraith only glancing back once.   
  
  
  
  
The next morning dawned as dreary as the rest. As she had the last several weeks, she spent the earliest hours in the drawing room, sipping slowly at the tea Bede had brought her. Rowle and Wormtail were as yet nowhere to be seen, and Wraith had not seen Gavin that morning either. In a way, she was relieved to have the room to herself.   
  
But even as the thought occurred to her, she heard someone's telltale footstep at the threshold. With a sigh, she glanced over, expecting to see one of three she usually did.   
  
She lifted one delicate brow at the sight of a stranger. He had an unruly mop of mousy brown hair and light brown eyes, and judging by the slight tan of his skin, he spent a great deal of time outside. He might of have been handsome if not for the nose just a little too large for his face.   
  
As she stared at him, she realized that he was waiting for her to say something. "Good morning," she said slowly, but easily.   
  
The stranger smiled slightly and cleared his throat. "Er, morning," he said. "Is…would it be alright if I joined you?"   
  
"I'm not the best of company," she told him plainly, just a touch of frost in her tone. "I don't know you," she explained for kindness's sake.   
  
The stranger hesitated and then slowly entered the room, approaching her cautiously. Wraith stiffened and her eyes narrowed, but she made no move. It wasn't until he reached her that he stopped and knelt at the side of her chair.   
  
Looking up at her, his slight smile returned. "Do you recognize me now?" he asked.   
  
She did.  
  
"Yes," she said. The youthful shine in his eyes made her heart hurt, though she wasn't sure why. "You were part of the group from last night. The young one."   
  
He winced at the term and offered a hand, still kneeling. "Antony Harper," he said, "at your service, milady."   
  
Wraith briefly touched her hand to his, but did not go as far as to clasp it. "Just Wraith will do, thank you," she told him. Studying him more closely, she felt herself sigh. "How old are you, Harper?"   
  
"Seventeen," he replied, more than a little defensive. "I'm of age," he added when she simply looked at him. "Come on, don't look at me like that. You can't be older than me."   
  
"I'm eighteen," she said simply.   
  
"Okay, you can't be  _much_  older than me," he said, his light eyes sparkling with humor.   
  
Wraith realized that he made her feel centuries older and very tired, much like Blaise Zabini had.   
  
"A year might mean little to you, Harper, but there is a world of difference between us."   
  
Harper lost his smile and became serious, but he didn't seem insulted as Wraith had expected. "Sorry," he said, surprising her further.   
  
She couldn't help but blink at him. With another sigh, she shook her head. "Get up off the floor, prat," she said without heat. She gestured to a chair nearby.    
  
Harper smiled again, brighter this time, and settled into the chair. "You're not what we expected, you know."   
  
"We?"   
  
Harper shrugged, "My mate Vaisey and me. We hear all the stories and rumors and whatnot and well," he chuckled, "honestly, we expected someone…older."   
  
Wraith unbent enough to smile. "Most do," she said, her tone forgiving. "I think, if I were someone else, that I'd be surprised too."   
  
"But what we've heard," Harper said cautiously, "at least a little of it's true…isn't it?"   
  
"I'd imagine so," Wraith said softly.   
  
Harper started to say something else, but stopped and turned his head at the sound of someone knocking on the open drawing room door. Wraith only glanced over and rolled her eyes before turning her attention back out the window.   
  
Gavin leaned against the doorframe, a sneer fixed to his lips. "Well, isn't this cozy," he said nastily. "Getting a little friendly with the Lady Death, are you boy?"   
  
Harper flushed and was suddenly on his feet, wand in hand.   
  
"Sit  _down_ , Harper," Wraith said without looking over. "He's only pricking at your pride. It's Gavin's favorite hobby."   
  
Gavin scowled at the mildness of her tone. He strode into the room and hooked a chair, dragging it closer to the two. "We've been having a spot of trouble getting information out of the prisoners," he told her, ignoring Harper now. "They're  _very_  stubborn. Now, the Dark Lord has said that it isn't your duty to help us out with the…interrogations, but if you want to know what  _I_  think––"   
  
"Gavin, if ever I wanted your opinion, I would gut you and read it in your entrails," she told him blandly without a flicker of an eye.   
  
A choking sound drew their attention briefly to Harper, who was unsuccessfully smothering a shocked laugh. Wraith caught his eye and allowed herself the smallest of smirks.   
  
Gavin felt a muscle begin to tick beneath his eye and he stood at once. He held up a hand, pointing a finger at Wraith. "You…" he said, the anger and insult thick in his voice, "You…" Unable to articulate further, he let out a short yell of frustration and stormed out of the room.   
  
 _I believe that's a point to me, Watcher_ , she thought with satisfaction.


	54. Watcher VI

_"A tactical retreat is not a bad response to a surprise assault, you know. First you survive. Then you choose your own ground. Then you counterattack."_  
  
  
  
  
Several days later, Wraith lounged once more in the drawing room, under the sharp and maddened glare of Gavin. The man had entered the room only moments after her, but he took a seat across the room and did not engage her in the slightest. Instead, he simply glared, as if he meant to burn a whole in her head with the intensity of it.   
  
With an acidic tone, Wraith spared him a glance. "Bee in your bonnet, Watcher?"   
  
Gavin sneered, but before he could reply, Harper stuck his head through the door and scanned the room. His eyes rested on Gavin for a moment and Wraith caught sight of the wicked smile the boy tried to hide. Harper followed Gavin's glare to where Wraith sat.   
  
"Milady? There's, well, a vampire at the door. Says he's here to see you."   
  
"Ah."  
  
Wraith stood and slipped from the room, Harper just a pace behind her. Wraith reached the front doors where Janesch stood waiting, leaning idly against the doorframe.   
  
Upon seeing her, the vampire grinned, flashing fangs. Wraith suspected that he'd done it purely for Harper's sake.   
  
" _Ma chéri_ ," Janesch said, stepping forward to meet her.   
  
Wraith held out her hands and allowed her friend to take them in his. "Janesch, it's good to see you," she said, but Janesch caught the hint of suspicion in her tone. "I've much to tell you," she added, pulling him into step beside her and looping her arm through his.   
  
She paused when they reached where Harper had stopped. He looked slightly paler than usual.   
  
"Harper, allow me to introduce my friend, Janesch Vivaldi," Wraith said lightly. "Janesch, this is Antony Harper."   
  
"Er," Harper hesitantly held out his hand to Janesch, "pleased to meet you, Mr. Vivaldi."   
  
"Oh, just Janesch, please," the vampire insisted, shaking Harper's hand firmly.   
  
"That'll do, Janesch," Wraith said in an undertone, tugging on his arm. "Thank you, Harper," she said as they started away.   
  
As they passed the drawing room door, Gavin stepped into the doorway. Wraith smirked and clung more to Janesch's arm as they walked by him. Janesch's eyes narrowed, but he did not turn to look at the man, for which Wraith was grateful.   
  
It wasn't until they had reached the tower that Janesch gave Wraith a curious look.   
  
"That…was Gavin, wasn't it?"   
  
"Oh yes," Wraith replied darkly, settling on the edge of her bed and laying back. "My beloved Watcher."   
  
"What is he doing here?" Janesch asked, an edge to the words.   
  
"The excuse is that he's here to assist Rowle with the prisoners below," Wraith said.   
  
"The excuse."   
  
"Yes," Wraith said, sitting up again. "As to why he's  _really_  here, I'm afraid I can only guess."   
  
Janesch crossed to the bed and slowly sat down beside her. "He's the one," he said softly. "Isn't he, love?"   
  
Wraith closed her eyes and nodded once. With a heavy sigh, she laid back again, resting her hands on her stomach.   
  
"Are you alright,  _ma petite_?"   
  
"I'm better than I was," Wraith replied without opening her eye. "When he first arrived…" She gave a small shudder. "It frightened me, to see him again, to have him so close and being unable to keep him away from me."   
  
"You do not seem so afraid now," Janesch commented lightly.   
  
"I got some good advice," Wraith said, as if she were still surprised by it, "From Severus Snape, of all people. He told me that by showing my fear I was giving Gavin power over me. So I've stopped showing it." She smiled slightly and turned her head to meet Janesch's eyes. "It's funny, really. The less fear I showed, the less fear I actually felt."   
  
"Hm, smart man, that Severus Snape."   
  
"I suppose so," Wraith agreed hesitantly. "I still wonder  _why_  he offered me advice in the first place."   
  
"Oh? Why is that,  _ma petite_?"   
  
"He doesn't like me," Wraith explained.   
  
"Perhaps he dislikes Gavin more."   
  
Wraith laughed softly and her smile lost its hard edge. "Could be," she said.   
  
Janesch lay on his side, resting his weight on one arm. "So…" the vampire said slowly, "…do you want to tell me more about this Antony Harper?"   
  
Wraith rolled her eyes. "He's a new recruit," she said, "A baby Death Eater." She smirked and shook her head. "He seems to be slightly in awe of me. He's rather like a puppy actually."   
  
"A cute puppy, at that," Janesch said with a grin.   
  
"But a puppy nonetheless," Wraith retorted dryly. "…He makes me feel old."   
  
Janesch slowly reached out to play with a lock of her dark hair. " _Ma petite_ , you are old," he told her. At her sardonic look, he amended himself, "An old soul with a young face."   
  
Wraith turned her eyes back to the ceiling. "I'm glad you came," she said at last. "I've missed you."   
  
"You stopped writing," Janesch said. "That's usually when you need me the most."   
  
He leaned closer to her and kissed her forehead. Wraith smiled at the sentiment, but as he was pulling back, they heard the door to her room slam open. Sitting up at the sharp sound, Wraith hissed a warning when she saw Gavin in the doorway.   
  
"I knew it," her Watcher sneered, glaring between them two of them on the bed. "I knew you were cozying up to someone."   
  
"Get out, Watcher," Wraith said, fully exasperated. "You've no notion of what you're talking about. I'm not 'cozying up' with Janesch."   
  
"Yes, well, we'll see which one of us the Dark Lord believes,  _princess_."   
  
"Sure you want to do that, Dominic?" Janesch said, standing and leaning against the bedpost. "You heard her say she wasn't cozying up to me. It doesn't follow that she's not cozying up to someone else."   
  
"Jan," Wraith said warningly.  
  
"He has to have heard the rumors, little ghost," Janesch insisted, "Unless he's deaf as well as blind."  
  
"Janesch––"   
  
"I'm not going to tell him,  _ma petite_. I bet he can figure the meaning out on his own. Dimwitted as he is, he's not a complete fool."   
  
Gavin hesitated, one foot out the door. He glanced over his shoulder at the vampire with narrowed eyes. "What are you nattering about, bloodsucker?"   
  
"Haven't you ever heard the expression 'where there's smoke; there's fire'?"     
  
" _Janesch_ ," Wraith hissed through gritted teeth. "Shut your mouth… It's no business of his anyway."   
  
Janesch glanced over at her and saw the wicked gleam in her eyes. He grinned at the sight of it. "Right. It's between you and your Lord alone."   
  
Gavin choked, paling dangerously. He knew which rumors the vampire was referring to. But Gavin had dismissed them out of hand. Was it actually possible that the Dark Lord had interest in such a human thing?   
  
"You play a dangerous game,  _rongeur_ ," Janesch told him, interrupting his thoughts, "You should be more careful about how you choose you play it."   
  
Gavin's eyes darted between them again, nervously this time. Wraith could almost see the wheels turning in his head.   
  
"Well?" Wraith said, raising an eyebrow. "Aren't you going to run off and tattle to the Dark Lord? Or could it be that you're afraid of what answers you'll find?"   
  
"He hasn't touched you," Gavin said bitingly.   
  
"You couldn't keep your hands off me," Wraith reminded him softly, all trace of humor gone from her eyes. "What makes you think he's all that different? Oh, wait," she said, slowly crossing the room to him, "He  _is_  that different from you... You see, when I say ' _no_ '…he listens."  
  
She was but an inch away from him, the cold fury in her eyes palpable across that small distance. Gavin kept eye contact with her for all of a minute before he jerked his head away. He glanced furtively at Janesch, who was still lounging against the bedpost with an indulgent grin, and then ducked out of the room.   
  
Wraith listened to his hurried footsteps upon the stairs until they were out of range of her hearing. Moving slowly, she closed the door and leaned her back against it. She was breathing very deeply.  
  
" _Ma chéri_?"   
  
"He's not telling anyone anything," Wraith said, pushing away from the door. "Behind all his bluster, my Watcher is a coward. He wouldn't dare go to the Dark Lord with this."   
  
"Wraith," Janesch said, meeting her halfway. "Are you alright?"  
  
"You so rarely use my name," she commented lightly.   
  
"I save it for special occasions," Janesch told her with an impish smile. He put gentle hands on her shoulders. "Are you alright?"  
  
"I'm alright," Wraith assured him. Their eyes met. "I think the game is almost finished."


	55. Watcher VII

_"The secret of life is to appreciate the pleasure of being terribly, terribly deceived."_  
  
  
  
  
Janesch only remained a little longer before he chose to take his leave. Wraith walked him back down to the door, rather unsurprised to see Harper and his pale shadow, Vaisey, idling about the entrance hall.   
  
At the threshold, Janesch paused, looking back to her. She saw the shadow of worry in his eyes and was touched by it. "Be careful,  _ma petite_ ," he whispered to her gently. "Gavin is a fool––but even fools get lucky sometimes."   
  
"I won't give him that chance," Wraith retorted. "I'm done letting him hurt me."   
  
"I believe you," Janesch told her with a crooked smile. "Write to me," he instructed firmly. "Else I'll return to haunt your steps."   
  
Wraith rolled her eyes and made no reply, not trusting herself not to laugh. With one last grin, Janesch slipped through the door and was gone. Wraith stood at the door for a moment longer before she turned and started down the hall. Halfway down, she paused.   
  
Without looking at him, she spoke. "Walk with me a moment, Harper."   
  
She caught sight of Vaisey's scowl out of the corner of her eye and wondered at the meaning of it. But Harper's face lit up and he quickly fell into step beside her. She led him to one of the side doors of the Manor and stepped outside into the chill night air. Her eyes locked upon the Rose Maze before them.   
  
"Harper, you are fully aware of what I am," Wraith began, "I know that you're afraid of me."   
  
"I'm n––" His denial was cut off as Wraith turned cold eyes to him. He paled slightly and before he could hide it, she caught the flash of fear in his eyes.   
  
"So I'm left to wonder why you've shadowed me these past few days."   
  
Harper swallowed audibly and looked away, gathering his thoughts. "…The Death Eaters––those higher up in status––haven't you noticed how the lower rung folk hang around them?"   
  
She had, actually. When the Malfoys had regained their favor with the Dark Lord, visitors were far more apparent at their home. And there were always more people at the Manor than required… "What does that have to do with anything?" she asked tiredly.   
  
Harper gave her a wry smile and shrugged. "Everything. All the higher up Death Eaters have an entourage of sorts. I saw that you didn't."   
  
Wraith looked at him. There was a trace of humor in her eyes, but it was very weak. "…Hadn't it occurred to you that there's a reason for that?" she asked softly.   
  
"Folk are afraid of you, I guess."   
  
"As they ought to be," Wraith said. "Harper––While I am a Death Eater, I am also above and apart from the ranks. I am the Dark Lord's Executioner, an extension on his will upon traitors."   
  
"I'm loyal," Harper told her. "Shouldn't being loyal protect me from you?"   
  
"It should," she admitted, a dark edge to her words. "It might not." She sighed and Harper heard the strain behind it. "Harper, I cannot protect you. I cannot help you. I cannot befriend you. You should…choose someone else to shadow."    
  
A light rain began to fall as silence had fallen before it.   
  
Harper looked to her, rebellion in his eyes. "And if I don't?"   
  
Wraith lifted her eyes to the sky, as if she were praying for patience. "Harper––This'll do you no good."   
  
Harper shrugged indifferently. "I've done a lot of things not good for me before," he said. "Don't see why I should change my colors now. I'm your vassal, milady. Might as well get used to me."   
  
"You are a fool, Antony Harper."   
  
"You aren't the first to tell me."   
  
"Why though?" she asked, facing him. "Why me?"   
  
"Because you won't use me like the others would," he told her. "My father was a Death Eater before he died. He was the Lestranges' go-to guy. They ran him ragged, left him to share a lot of the blame for their foul-ups. He died because they left him behind."   
  
Wraith blinked. "I'm sorry," she said. "I've no love for the Lestranges either," she confessed after a moment.   
  
"I've heard," Harper said, grinning. He nodded to the dagger at her waist. "We've all heard."   
  
Wraith shook her head, but there was a hint of a smile on her face as she glanced at him again. "You'll stay out of my way?"   
  
"Of course, milady," Harper said, with an overacted bow. "I'll always be a step behind you, never in your path."   
  
Again, Wraith sighed. "Come on then," she said, gesturing back to the door.   
  
He beat her to it and held it open for her. Wraith resisted the urge to roll her eyes, but he read the amusement in her face.   
  
Just inside the door was Vaisey. Harper smiled at his friend, but Wraith was quick to notice that Vaisey did not return it.   
  
"Try to keep your friend out of trouble," Wraith said to Vaisey as she passed. "It seems he's incapable of doing so on his own."   
  
She heard Harper chuckle as she turned the corner and left them.      
  
  
  
  
Wraith had almost reached her tower when she felt him coming. Stopping halfway down the hall, she leaned against the wall and waited for him. A few minutes later, the Dark Lord came into her sight. She smiled slightly, but there was an underlying sense of annoyance.   
  
"My Lord."   
  
"Pet," he murmured, "I was just coming to speak to you."   
  
"So I gathered," she replied, sighing tiredly, "As you've not sought my company simply for the pleasure of it, since we've been at odds."   
  
"Nor have you sought mine," he reminded her.   
  
He reached for her, fingers twisting gently in her long hair. Wraith leaned into his touch automatically and found herself relaxing slightly.    
  
"What did you want to speak to me about?" she asked softly after a moment.   
  
"I'll be leaving the Manor for a few weeks," he told her.   
  
Wraith blinked and then stepped back from him, that subtle air of annoyance flaring into anger around her. "And leaving me here, I take it?"   
  
"As I've told you before, my Wraith, when I travel I do so  _alone_."   
  
"Oh, fine then," Wraith snapped, throwing up her hands and pacing down the hall. "Just bloody brilliant. You're going to leave me to deal with not only  _Gavin_ , but all those baby Death Eaters idling around the Manor waiting for  _you_  to give them assignment!"    
  
" _Wraith_."   
  
She stopped, scowling as she turned back to him.   
  
"Much as I understand your temper, pet, that's quite enough."   
  
Wraith remained silent, reining her venomous temper in under her skin. Voldemort considered her, tilting his head to one side.   
  
"'Baby Death Eaters'?"   
  
Wraith appeared rather sullen. "They  _are_  babies," she told him scathingly. "Fully half of them have no idea of what's expected of them. The other half suffer from inflated egos and foolish ideas of their own importance to you. And those two  _boys_ ––Harper and Vaisey––they're barely of age!"   
  
"As you were when I found you," Voldemort reminded, clearly amused by her attitude.   
  
"I'm different," she told him mulishly, letting him come closer again. She sighed impatiently as he stroked her hair. "I was raised for this life. They weren't."   
  
"You disapprove?"   
  
"Only a little," she said, smirking as she leaned against his arm. "Maybe because I have to deal with Harper following me around like a demented puppy."   
  
"Really?"   
  
"Oh, don't use that tone," she said, amused herself now. "He's playing an old and empty game. Underneath it, he is properly terrified of me. He's not stupid, I'll give him that."   
  
Wraith sensed that her Lord was not entirely placated and stepped even closer to him, one hand curling around his arm. Voldemort's eyes narrowed slightly, but he continued to run his hand through her hair.   
  
"When are you leaving?"   
  
"Immediately."   
  
"Then, my Lord," she said with a sigh, "I will walk you out."   
  
  
  
  
Together, they walked down to the entrance hall. Voldemort pulled the hood of his cloak over his head as they walked. Wraith saw Gavin out of the corner of her eyes, scrambling to the drawing room doorway as they passed. A sudden wicked gleam came to Wraith's eyes.   
  
She followed the Dark Lord out the doors and down the steps. Midway down the graveled path, she decided to stop. Voldemort paused as well, turning to face her.   
  
"I expect to find Gavin still alive when I return, pet."   
  
"Yes, my Lord," she replied with a long-suffering tone. Tilting her head to one side, she stepped closer. "I'll do my best to resist the temptation."   
  
Voldemort, curious, touched a hand under her chin. She licked her lips and tilted her head up.   
  
"Be nice," she said in an almost sly whisper, "Make me miss you when you're gone."   
  
Slightly amused once more, Voldemort leaned down to press his lips to hers. Wraith took hold of the front of his cloak to keep him there longer than he'd intended. She tilted her head and deepened the kiss and felt a flash of triumph when Voldemort touched a hand to the small of her back. She released her hold of him and he pulled back.   
  
In that brief moment when their faces were still so close, he saw the dark satisfaction in her eyes. His inhuman eyes narrowed in suspicion and he quickly looked to the Manor.   
  
He was rather unsurprised to see a shell-shocked Gavin on the front steps.   
  
Looking back to her, he said slowly, "Clever merciless little bitch." He sounded almost impressed beneath his fury at being used by his own servant.   
  
Wraith only smiled. It was a knife-edged and rather evil half-smile, and for a moment Voldemort saw himself in her expression.   
  
"Safe travels, my Lord," she said around that little smile. She turned on her heel and walked back up the path to the Manor.   
  
Voldemort watched her go only for a moment before he too turned and stalked away.   
  
 _You had best be right about this, Vivaldi._


	56. Watcher VIII

_"I have made plenty of enemies in my lifetime, but none has ever done me as much injury as I do myself."_  
  
  
  
  
Wraith entered the drawing room still wearing that smile and settled into a chair near the windows. Wormtail was sitting in the corner of the room, nursing a butterbeer and Rowle had a glass of something stronger.   
  
Seeing her expression, Rowle hesitated before he spoke. "M-My Lady?"   
  
"Yes, Rowle, what is it?"   
  
"Was that the Dark Lord leaving?"   
  
"Yes," she replied, not taking her eyes from the window. "He'll be gone for a few weeks."   
  
"D-did he mention his purpose away?"   
  
"He did not," Wraith said. "But then, he so rarely does." She turned her head and smiled at him indulgently. "I'm sure we'll all survive in his absence."   
  
Although still disturbed by the odd glint of her smile, Rowle had to smirk at that. "I'm surprised he left without dealing with the newbies."   
  
"So was I," Wraith confessed. She shrugged lightly and turned back to the window. "Well, it isn't our place to question his motives."   
  
Rowle made a noncommittal noise and went back to his drink. Both looked up as Harper poked his head in the door, as he was barely suppressing laughter.   
  
"Milady?" he called to Wraith with a bow of his head. He then addressed the room as a whole. "Does anybody know why that Gavin fellow is standing on the front steps gaping like a fish?"   
  
Wraith let out an unintentional snort of laughter and quickly covered the smile that twisted her lips. Rowle and Wormtail stared in amazement at her, for they'd never heard a trace of laughter from the girl, but Harper grinned at her. Wraith waved a hand to dismiss it, still smiling benignly.   
  
"Never mind," she murmured.   
  
She stood and crossed the room to where Harper still stood in the doorway. He stepped aside so that she could pass and she discreetly winked at him as she went by. In the hall, she glanced down at the front doors and was darkly pleased to see Gavin still standing out on the steps.   
  
Feeling quite satisfied, Wraith turned on her heel and went up the stairs, finally seeking the refuge of her room.   
  
  
  
  
Her tower room was dark when she entered it and she waved a hand idly at the fireplace as she closed the door behind her. A bright fire bloomed in the grate and Wraith smiled as she settled into one of the chairs before it, taking in the warmth of the light. Her eyelids were fluttering heavily after a few minutes and Wraith was keen to simply nap in front of the fire.   
  
But her eyes snapped open at the sound of her door opening and closing again. Those bright broken orbs narrowed dangerously at the sight of Gavin standing with his back against the door. Wraith swiftly stood, hands clenched into fists at her sides.   
  
"Get out," she snapped at him, stunned at his audacity. "You are not welcome here, Watcher."   
  
"We have to talk," he said, his tone disturbingly reasonable. He held up his hands, palms up, in a gesture of peaceful intention.   
  
Wraith felt a slick of familiar fear in the pit of her stomach. "As I have stated before; we have nothing to talk about," she told him firmly.   
  
"It doesn't change things, you know," Gavin said as if she hadn't spoken, "The fact that the Dark Lord has had his hands on you. He needs you to have children. Like it or not, princess, he has chosen  _me_  to father those children."   
  
"Bollocks," Wraith snapped, coming around the edge of the chair to properly face him. "I'll only believe those words when they come from his mouth. They've no meaning coming from your poisonous lips."   
  
"And when you do?" Gavin demanded, taking a step towards her. "What happens when he tells you? Wraith, I  _know_  that you hate me, but it's in both our interests for you to forgive me."   
  
"You stay back," Wraith said warningly as he took another couple of steps. "Stay away from me, Watcher."   
  
"Don't you see, princess?" Gavin said, " _We could make this work_! What's that old saying?" He held out a hand to her entreatingly, "––'Better the devil you know'?"   
  
" _Don't_!" Wraith exclaimed, slapping his hand away and backing up. She didn't trust that not quite sane gleam in her Watcher's eyes. "Do  _not_ touch me, Gavin," she told him, edging away from him. "Or I swear I will––"   
  
"You'll  _what_?" he said with a flash of temper. "You're still under orders not to use your magic against me, princess. The Dark Lord wants me alive, remember?" He was only a few inches away from her. "You can't keep this up. You know you'll have to obey when the Dark Lord orders you to marry me."   
  
Wraith felt her resolve waver, but she scowled in defiance nonetheless. "Yes," she said shortly. The word seemed to stun Gavin momentarily. "Yes, if the Dark Lord ordered it, I would become your wife––and you would fall dead the moment I said 'I do'."   
  
"You wouldn't dare," Gavin said with a trace of disbelieving amusement. "You wouldn't," he repeated more firmly, taking hold of her arm.   
  
"Oh, you do sound so sure," Wraith said scathingly, making no move to free herself. "But believe me, Watcher, I'd sooner dare the Dark Lord's wrath than be your wife in truth."   
  
She put her face very close to his.   
  
"I would rather die than let you finish what you started."     
  
There was a moment of heavy silence as they words sunk in.   
  
"…And just what is it that he started, my pet?"   
  
It was as though they had both been struck through the heart by lightning. Very slowly, Wraith and Gavin turned towards the fireplace. The Dark Lord stood before it, hands clasped behind his back, red inhuman eyes glowing from under the shadow of his cloak.   
  
Gavin immediately released his hold on Wraith's arm and stepped back, hands up. "M-my Lord," he managed to gasp.   
  
Wraith said nothing, but unshed tears glittered in her eyes.   
  
As they both gazed at him in stunned silence, he stepped towards them, eyes narrowing. "I will only ask this one… last… time… Wraith,  _what did Gavin do to you in Azkaban_?"   
  
Wraith stared at him with almost detached resignation. Finally…   
  
"When I was a little girl, it was rare for my Watcher to visit more than twice a year. But––shortly after I turned fifteen that…changed. He began to visit more often. He'd…bring me gifts, 'for good behavior' he told me; books mostly, or some kind of sweet. I started to look forward to his coming. And then he––"   
  
Her voice broke and she closed her eyes. The unshed tears escaped and ran coldly down her face. She took a deep and shuddering breath and opened her eyes again.   
  
"He never raped me," she said bluntly. "He only touched. I don't think he dared to go farther than that." She took another breath to steady herself. "When I was sixteen, shortly after the dementors had abandoned the prison, he went farther than, I think, he intended to go. It was a rather close call, in all actuality. I panicked and I screamed."   
  
She smiled very bitterly. "…I'd never screamed before…It seemed to jolt him back to his senses. He left…and I didn't see him again until the night you brought me to the Malfoys'."    
  
Voldemort closed his eyes and breathed in slowly. For a moment, nothing happened and no one dared move. The Dark Lord then opened his eyes and they locked upon Gavin's drawn face. The weight of those eyes sent Gavin several paces backwards.   
  
"My Lord," he whispered in alarm, "M-my Lord, please, I––"   
  
Voldemort hissed a warning and Gavin fell silent at once.   
  
Slowly, Wraith backed away and sat on the edge of her bed, clinging to the bedpost and shutting her eyes tight.   
  
"You  _dared_ ," Voldemort hissed, advancing on Gavin, his eyes livid. "You  _dared_  to touch what was not yours to touch."   
  
" _Please_ , my Lord…"   
  
"Do you deny what she has said?" The Dark Lord demanded, his voice rising.   
  
"I…" Gavin glanced at her in futility and slowly shook his head. "N-no, my Lord."   
  
" _Crucio_!"   
  
Gavin screamed as he collapsed to the floor, writhing in agony. Wraith squeezed her eyes shut tighter still, wishing she could do the same for her ears. Voldemort released the curse, leaving Gavin gasping for breath on the floor.   
  
"I suspected the truth," the Dark Lord said coldly. "But I had no confirmation until now. Your crime calls for your death, Dominic Gavin."   
  
"M-m-mercy," Gavin stuttered through chattering teeth. "M-mercy, my Lord…"   
  
"I've no mercy to spare you, for the insult you've given me," Voldemort told him, holding up his wand. " _Avada_ ––"   
  
" _NO_!"   
  
Wraith shrieked the word, cutting across the Dark Lord's voice before he could finish the killing curse.   
  
"…No?" Voldemort repeated incredulously.   
  
"No," Wraith said again, rising to her feet. Her eyes  _burned_  as they latched onto his. She stalked forward, pushing his wand aside as she stepped between him and Gavin.   
  
"This is  _my_  pound of flesh to take," she said, her voice shaking. "Whatever insult he's done to you, I promise that the insult to me was greater." She lifted her hand and touch Voldemort's face. "You give him to me," she said softly, slowly. "Give to  _me_  his fate to decide."   
  
Voldemort gazed down at her impassively. He touched his hand to hers briefly. "And what would you have done with him?" he asked her.   
  
Wraith blinked several times and then turned to look at where Gavin still huddled on the floor. Whatever fear in his eyes there had been for the Dark Lord was nothing compared to the fear in them for her.   
  
"Azkaban," she said simply, almost lightly. She glanced back at the Dark Lord. "And the dementors have been breeding like mad these past few years––Surely you can spare a couple to keep him company there?"   
  
The Dark Lord smiled slowly. "Oh, I believe that I could indeed."  
  
  
  
  
A long horrendous scream echoed down through the halls of the Manor. Every occupant within hurried to their doors to watch in cold terror as two dementors glided past. Being dragged between them was the flailing form of Gavin and it was his imploring screams that had called to his fellow Death Eaters.   
  
Following at a distance was the Dark Lord and a step behind him was the Wraith. Her face was as a mask as she watched Gavin struggle against his captors' hold.   
  
" _Noooo_!" he shrieked when they had reached the entrance hall. His efforts to escape double and then tripled the closer they came to the doors. " _NO! No, don't do this! My Lord, don't make me go! WRAITH! WRAAAITH!!_ "   
  
In the doorway of the drawing room stood Rowle, Wormtail, Harper, and Vaisey. All four shuddered at the cold, dispassionate expression on the Wraith's face as she watched Gavin struggle.   
  
"Goodbye, Watcher," she said softly.   
  
The front doors opened and the dementors dragged Gavin out of the Manor, with him still screaming for mercy.   
  
When the sounds of his screams had faded, the Dark Lord glanced at his Wraith. "I had no idea you were capable of such…imaginative cruelty, my pet."   
  
Wraith didn't take her eyes from the doors. It was as though she could still see Gavin being taken away. "You do not yet know what I am capable of," she said darkly. Slowly, she turned from the doors and back towards the staircase. She caught the Dark Lord's gaze briefly. "…And neither do I."


	57. Reconciliation

_"It is better to be feared than loved, if you cannot be both."_  
  
  
  
  
He found her later, not in her tower as he had expected, but in a ruin of a room that had served as the Manor's library a thousand years before.   
  
The room was immense, filled with broken and decaying shelves and thick with dust and the scraps of books long ago forgotten. It was only at the front of the room that a little restoration had been done. It was as if someone had started, seen the amount of work required, and then quit. The shelves closest to the doors were repaired and cleaned, though they had not yet been stocked with new books.   
  
And in the corner of the room was a faded sorry excuse for a couch, set there as though it too had been forgotten. It was on that couch that she lay, gazing up at the ceiling and the faded gilt there, tears silently streaming from the corners of her eyes.   
  
Voldemort stepped into the room and, ignoring the dust, closed the doors behind him.   
  
Wraith glanced at him, her eyes strangely empty of emotion despite the tears. She sat up, wrapping her arms around her knees, and she turned her head to stare at nothing.   
  
Voldemort touched the crown of her head and then sat down in the space she had made beside her. He said nothing, merely looked at her as if she were somehow curious to him. He gently ran his hand up and down her back in an almost comforting manner.   
  
Wraith sighed deeply and then lay back down, resting her head in his lap. The movement threw the Dark Lord momentarily, but he shortly decided he did not mind it.   
  
"Do you forgive me?" Wraith asked softly as he stroked her hair.   
  
"Be more specific, pet."   
  
"Do you forgive me for not telling you?"   
  
"I suppose, in light of everything, I must. I confess, I do wonder  _why_  you refused to tell me."   
  
Again, Wraith sighed. "I had no idea how you would react," she said simply. "I didn't know if you would punish Gavin alone or punish me with him for not preventing it. And…" Her voice trailed off a moment before she was able to continue. "…It's hard to talk about. You've no idea how difficult it was to get those words past my lips."   
  
"I see."   
  
She turned her head to look up at him. "Thank you for giving me closure, in any case."   
  
"Is that what it was?" Voldemort asked dryly, "Letting you lock Gavin away in Azkaban?"   
  
"Oh yes," Wraith said, smiling just slightly. "I'm feeling much better now, knowing that he'll suffer as I did."   
  
"And I thought you didn't approve of torture," Voldemort murmured, brushing a lock of raven hair from her face.   
  
She shrugged and said blandly, "It is torture I don't have to witness. I can live with that."   
  
"My selfish little pet," he said, rather approvingly.   
  
A soft silence fell between them. Wraith reached for the Dark Lord's hand and placed it upon her stomach, laying her hand over his. His other hand continued to stroke her hair.   
  
"Gavin wasn't here as a punishment to me, was he?" Wraith said suddenly. "You were after the truth of what passed between us in Azkaban."  
  
"Clever girl," he replied evenly.   
  
"Clever of you to pretend to leave," Wraith said, raising an eyebrow. "I didn't know you could conceal your presence from me," she added, tapping a finger to her temple in a familiar gesture. "Have you done that often?"   
  
Voldemort found himself curious, for there was no fear, no worry in the question. It wouldn't, didn't, bother her that he could approach her without warning.   
  
"I've not had to," he told her and he left it at that. "Things were not progressing fast enough. Your taking Gavin's presence as a challenge was…impressive and entertaining, but served not the true purpose. The situation needed another…push."     
  
Wraith smiled and laughed softly. "Sorry that I made it so difficult."   
  
"On the contrary," Voldemort said, "It is good to know there is strength in you. Gavin made you weak with his presence alone and for a moment you seemed as frail as you look." He smiled and there was a dark edge to it, "But now here you are; the victor in a little war."   
  
Wraith's own smile wilted a little and she sat back up, turning to face him. "There isn't any magic button to push, you know," she told him. "I'm not automatically fixed because Gavin is gone." She touched his face with gentle fingertips. "There will be times when I will still flinch and turn away from you."   
  
Voldemort said nothing, but he did not see angry as Wraith had feared. Moving slowly, she moved closer until she was merely an inch from his face. The Dark Lord turned his head and their lips met briefly.   
  
"My Lord," Wraith murmured.   
  
Voldemort closed his eyes and then seemed to snap himself out of it. He stood, offering a hand to her. "Come," he told her firmly. "No more hiding in dusty corners, my Wraith. You are above that."   
  
Smiling again, she took his hand and allowed him to lead her from the dark room.    
  
  
  
  
Wind howled around the wall of the Manor and rain pounded against the windows, but Wraith found it easier to ignore. She sat before the fire in the drawing room, an open book in her lap.   
  
The room was empty save for Wormtail, who was sitting in a chair in the corner of the room, doing his best to be invisible. Wraith couldn't help but glance at him now and again. She had yet to speak a single word to him in all the time she had lived in the Manor.   
  
Tilting her head to one side, Wraith met his eyes across the room. "Come here," she ordered gently.   
  
Wormtail paled, but did as she said. He crossed the room, shoulders hunched as if he expected a blow. He lowered himself to the floor a few feet from her, his small watery eyes darted here and there, for he did not dare to stare at her directly.   
  
"Wormtail."   
  
He flinched and said nothing.   
  
"It isn't your real name, is it?"   
  
Wormtail frowned, confused. He finally met her eyes again, but quickly looked away again. "N-no," he said.   
  
"What is your name?"   
  
"Pettigrew––er, Peter Pettigrew."   
  
"Always in the shadows, aren't you, Peter?" Wraith asked softly. "Every time I'm down here, you seem to be hiding in that corner, pretending not to exist. Why is that?"   
  
Wormtail couldn't find an answer he could articulate. Wraith watched him struggle with the question and sighed.   
  
"Never mind," she said, much to his relief. The glint of silver caught her eye. "I've heard only a little of you," she said. "I know you are the one who exposed the Potters. And I know that it was you who helped the Dark Lord to return." Wormtail seemed to perk up a little at that and Wraith took note of it. "But people don't think much of you, do they?"   
  
"I'm not much to think about," he said, surprising himself with honesty.   
  
Wraith held out her hand. It took Wormtail a moment to realize that she was asking to see his hand. He slowly held out the silver limb and let her take it. She studied it, the slightest smile on her face.   
  
"This is a mark of the Dark Lord's favor," she told him, releasing him. "You'll carry this mark forever. You shouldn't let people push you around so much."   
  
Wormtail blinked, at a loss for words.   
  
Wraith smirked slightly. "Perhaps it is just your nature," she conceded.   
  
Wormtail nodded quickly in agreement. Wraith sighed again and shook her head.   
  
"You can go back to your corner," she told him. "I'd just realized that I'd never spoken to you before and wanted to correct that." When he hesitated, the confusion clear on his face, she added, "You are a loyal Death Eater. You may only be loyal out of fear and cowardice, but the same is true for many others of our order. I do not hold it against you."   
  
She turned her attention back to the book in her lap, releasing him to skulk away back to his chair in the corner.   
  
Shortly after he had, someone knocked on the open door. Wraith looked up to see Harper and Vaisey in the doorway. Both wore heavy, rain-soaked cloaks and looked fairly travel-worn.   
  
"Evening," Wraith said, gesturing for them to enter. She stood up from the hearth and settled into a nearby chair. "Sit by the fire," she told them both. "You both look as if you're about to catch your death."   
  
They removed their wet cloaks and hung them up to dry.   
  
"It's not as bad as all that," Harper said, sitting on the hearth, but still close to her. Vaisey said nothing, but sat next to his friend. "Just a little wet."   
  
Wraith rolled her eyes and went back to her book. Harper smiled up at her, but Vaisey subtly hit his shoulder to make him stop. Harper turned to glare silently at his friend and Vaisey smirked. Wraith watched the exchange out of the corner of her eye, highly amused.   
  
"Is it so impossible for you to stay out of trouble, Harper?" she asked without looking up.   
  
Harper laughed and edged a little closer to her.   
  
"O beauty, passing beauty! Sweetest sweet!  
How can thou let me waste my youth in sighs?  
I only ask to sit beside thy feet.  
Thou knowest I dare not look into thine eyes."  
  
Wraith blinked down at him, smirking. "Pretty," was all she said in response to it.   
  
Vaisey scowled and rolled his eyes. "You're a bloody fool."   
  
"This is not news," Harper retorted with a high air, "I don't see why you must repeat yourself."   
  
Wraith fought the urge to laugh aloud. "Who wrote that bit of poetry?" she asked instead.   
  
Harper smirked, "What? I can't write poetry?"   
  
"I've no idea," she said, giving him an arched look, "but you didn't write that fluff."   
  
Harper grinned widely and ducked his head. "Caught me. It's a Lord Tennyson poem. But don't tell anyone where I got it," he added.   
  
"Why not?"   
  
"Because he was a Muggle. My mum doesn't approve of my reading Muggle authors."   
  
"Hm. Your secret is safe with me." Wraith made the mental note to hunt out more of Lord Tennyson's works to read herself.   
  
"Berk," Vaisey muttered.   
  
Wraith raised an eyebrow at him. "You know, I don't think I've heard anything but insults come out of your mouth, Vaisey," she commented lightly.   
  
Vaisey flushed slightly and Wraith caught a hint of true venom in his eyes. It surprised her enough that she did not let it pass.   
  
"You don't like me much, do you, Vaisey?" she asked quietly.   
  
Harper's smile disappeared and he looked a little worried. He made a move to keep his friend quiet, but Vaisey pushed him aside.   
  
"No," he said. "No, I really don't."   
  
"May I know why?" she asked, "Have I done you some wrong that I do not recall?"   
  
"My uncle was at the London warehouse."   
  
Wraith's heart stuttered and she paled a little, though neither boy seemed to notice.   
  
"Ah."   
  
"Your uncle was an old bleeder," Harper snapped. "A backstabbing git."   
  
"Yeah, I know," Vaisey said, turning his anger to his friend, "Doesn't endear me to the Lady Death here either way, though."   
  
Harper opened his mouth to say something more, but Wraith lifted a hand to keep him silent.   
  
"It's quite alright, Harper," she said softly. "Vaisey's dislike of me is very understandable. I do not begrudge it of him."   
  
Vaisey seemed slightly surprised and blinked up at her. Then he ducked his head, turning his eyes to the fire rather than look at anyone in the room at all.   
  
Wraith closed her book a moment later and stood. "Excuse me," she murmured, striding past them without another glance.   
  
"Brilliant," Harper muttered, glaring at his friend. "Just brilliant. Well done, friend. Thank you."   
  
Vaisey did not reply.


	58. Unasked Help

_"Sometimes you feel other people's pain worse than your own. We're armored against our own troubles. We can't afford to give in to despair. Then you see someone else struggling, and it breaks your heart."_  
  
  
  
  
Wraith slipped almost silently into Voldemort's tower and quickly closed the door. "My Lord."   
  
Voldemort was looking through the upper bookshelves and did not seem surprised by her entrance. "What are you hiding from now, my Wraith?"   
  
Her eyes narrowed as she gazed up at him. "I'm not hiding," she told him with the slightest pout. When he simply looked down at her with vague disbelief, she gave in. "Oh, alright," she said. "If you must know, I'm hiding from the babies. I'm rather tired of their oh-so frightened glances and the rest." She sat on the edge of his desk and shrugged. "It's all well and good to be so terrifying, but it is so very tiring."   
  
"It is more effective for them to fear you," Voldemort reminded her.   
  
"At least there's Harper to offset them," Wraith said with the slightest smirk. "He's very amusing."   
  
Voldemort frowned, but said nothing. He descended the twisted staircase and approached her. Wraith smiled to see the scowl and tilted her head to one side. "I'm growing rather fond of that scowl," she told him.   
  
"You would," Voldemort said, leaning against the desk, hands to either side of her.   
  
Wraith leaned forward just slightly, touching her forehead to his. "It's Halloween today, did you know?"   
  
Voldemort jerked back and stepped away from her. "I'd forgotten."   
  
Caught off-guard by his sudden movement, Wraith frowned after him. "My Lord?" She slipped off the desk and followed after him as he went back to the staircase. She stepped in front of him and up several steps before turning to him, standing in his way.   
  
"Move, my Wraith," Voldemort told her edgily.   
  
Wraith shook her head, hair falling into her eyes. She stepped down one stair, her face just slightly higher than his. She pressed her lips to his forehead and kept them there for a moment. "I didn't know you didn't like Halloween," she murmured. "I shouldn't have reminded you of it."  
  
Voldemort stepped back from her, a little appeased. "It is of no consequence," he said dismissively. Distracted by the curve of her neck, he moved back to her and curled his hand around her waist. He kissed her neck, drawing in the soft cool scent of her skin. "Never mind it," he said, turning away again. "Hide somewhere else, my pet," he told her. "You're distracting me."   
  
Wraith smiled impishly and descended the stairs two at a time. "As you wish, my Lord," she said. "I think I'll write Janesch," she said, heading towards the door. "I haven't told him yet that Gavin's gone."   
  
Voldemort's scowl returned, but he quickly hid it. "You've your vampire to thank for that, in part."   
  
Wraith stopped cold and looked back to him. "What do you mean?" she asked slowly.   
  
"You didn't know?" Voldemort said. "It was Vivaldi who suggested I bring Gavin here to coax a confession from him or from you."   
  
Wraith paled dangerously and Voldemort was quite pleased to see the flash of quick-fire temper in her crystal eyes. Without another word, Wraith disappeared through the door as quickly as she had come.   
  
  
  
  
Janesch knocked on Wraith's bedroom door, rather surprised that she had not met him downstairs as she usually did when he came to visit. The door opened beneath his hand and he stepped inside. The room was dimly lit by the dying fire at the hearth.   
  
Janesch frowned and hesitated in the doorway. There was chill air to the room and his instincts screamed at him to right back out the door. Before he could chose to make that move, a thin hand was suddenly wrapped around his throat and he found himself pressed against the wall.   
  
With her strange cold power behind her, she was strong enough to hold him there. Her eyes were bright and furious as they met his. Janesch held very still, not struggling against her hold. He gazed at her quite calmly despite her threatening manner.   
  
"It was you," Wraith said simply. " _You_  went to the Dark Lord and  _told_  him about Gavin, didn't you?"   
  
Janesch closed his eyes briefly. "I did," he admitted softly. "I'm sorry,  _ma chéri_ ," he said. "You needed help. The secret was clawing you raw inside. I had to do something."   
  
"I did not ask for your  _help_ ," Wraith snapped. But she released him, turning away and wrapping her arms over her chest. "It almost broke me," she whispered, looking back to him, "Having him here. You saw that."   
  
"I'm sorry," he said again, having no other words.   
  
Wraith walked away from him, the few candles around the room lighting themselves as she passed them. She sat in a chair near the fire, seething silently.   
  
"Wraith," Janesch said, following her. He knelt before her, touching his hand to hers. " _Ma cher petite_ , please believe me; I did not mean to hurt you."   
  
"I know. But intent and outcome are so rarely coincidental."   
  
Janesch winced slightly and brought her hand to his lips. "Can you forgive me, little ghost?"   
  
Wraith was silent, looking into the fire as if he were not there. Finally, she sighed. "Probably––but not yet." She pulled her hand from his hold and placed it back in her lap. "Go away, Vivaldi," she told him, still not looking at him. "Leave me alone for a little while."   
  
Janesch nodded silently and stood. He was gone before Wraith could think to change her mind.  
  
  
  
  
November arrived with clearer weather, the air turned crisp and dry, though the cold remained. Without the distraction of his Wraith's battle with Gavin, the Dark Lord turned his attention back to the prisoners below. He had been very disappointed by the lack of information gleaned from them by Rowle and the others.   
  
And while Wraith continued to enjoy her victory over Gavin and his absence from the Manor, she grew steadily more uneasy within the Manor the more time the Dark Lord spent in the dungeons. Her nights were restless, clouded by vague nightmares that left her shaking and sweating before dawn.   
  
But the refuge she had found in the past was not available to her. She could not bring herself to write to Janesch just yet. She knew that he had meant well, but that cold empty ache in her heart remained.   
  
It was another cold, but clear day that Wraith escaped the Manor in the early hours of the evening. The sun was setting in the west, leaving the sky in transition between day and night. The Dark Lord had only just gone down to the dungeons, but Wraith had been keen to escape before the screams began. She did not go far, only out into the woods that surrounded the Manor.   
  
Silence pressed against her ears. There were no birds, no hint of wind to dispel the quiet. Wraith found it oddly soothing. As she walked, she heard the crunch of fallen leaves at her feet. It was as if she were the only living creature in the world.   
  
The quiet made her rather introspective. Her thoughts turned to Gavin and she felt a dark, sweet thrill as she thought of the look in his eyes when she had decided his fate. From thoughts of Gavin, she found herself recalling her time in Azkaban after he had abandoned her for what had seemed for good. For little more than a year, she had had no contact with the outside world, not even the dementors had remained there in the prison.   
  
It had been the darkest time of her life. All she had known for that time was the dark and the cold. It was then that she had lost her hope to ever be free. Her Watcher had lied to her, hurt her, and then abandoned her there to die. The Dark Lord would never come to give her freedom and purpose.   
  
 _But he did_ , Wraith thought with warmth.  _He came and I walk free now. I'll never be caged again._  
  
But she knew that was a lie. Her fear caged her still. Her fear of Gavin––and her increasing fear of those pleading screams from below.   
  
 _Why do they affect me so?_  She pondered it, as she had so often before. Even in Azkaban, the screams of her fellow prisoners had shook her and scratched at her already thin sanity.   
  
 _It is a weakness_ , she thought darkly.  _And I cannot afford such a weakness._  She stopped on the path and turned back towards the Manor, barely able to see it through the trees. She started back, her steps quick, for she feared to lose her nerve.   
  
At the edge of the trees, she paused at the sight of Snape on the front steps. He seemed to be watching for her, for the moment his eyes fell upon her, he hurried down the steps and towards her.  
  
"Wraith," he called, his voice sharp.   
  
"Severus, what is it?" she asked quickly. She had not seen him like this before.   
  
"The Dark Lord has lost patience with McGonagall," Snape said rapidly. "She is goading his temper beyond return. He is going to kill her––   
  
––And you must stop him."


	59. Fractured

_"There is no good and evil, there is only power...and those too weak to seek it."_  
  
  
  
  
Wraith stared at him, uncomprehending. "And you expect me to do that how?" she asked incredulously.  _He must be joking, A piss-poor joke but_ ––   
  
"You are the most important of his followers, Wraith," Snape told her. "Your words have weight."   
  
"And yours don't?"   
  
Snape's patience, already a thin thread, snapped. He grabbed hold of her arm and began to pull her towards the stairs. "We don't have time for this," he said. "I have already done my best and it was not enough.  _We need her alive!_ " He pushed her through the front doors impatiently. "Keep her that way."   
  
But Wraith did not move. "Why?" she asked swiftly. "Why can't she die?"   
  
"Because we have gotten  _nothing_  from her," Snape said. "I have Veritaserum, truth potion, brewing, but it will not be ready for another month. We need to buy that much time at least!"   
  
"I––" Wraith faltered, eyes drifting to the dungeon door. "I don't think I can do this, Severus," she said weakly.   
  
"Try," Snape said. "Just try. The Dark Lord's temper is a terrible thing and we will all face it if we let this happen."   
  
For a long impossible moment, Wraith stared at him, unspeaking. Then she turned and ran down the hall to the dungeons. Snape let out a breath, watching her go.     
  
  
  
  
Wraith practically flew down the stone steps that descended into the dungeons. At the bottom, she rapidly took in the scene before her eyes. Voldemort stood before McGonagall's cell, his face twisted with rage.   
  
There was a curious silence to the scene that set Wraith on edge. Then came a weak reedy laugh from the cell. "What…what's the matter, Riddle? Don't you…you like speaking of our old…school days?"   
  
Wraith slowly edged towards her Lord as his grip on the wand in his hand tightened.   
  
"Be silent," the Dark Lord all but whispered.   
  
"But…I thought…that you  _wanted_  me…to talk," was McGonagall's retort.   
  
" _Crucio!_ "   
  
The strangled cry that came from the cell was as weak as her voice had been.  _She must be on the ragged edge_ , Wraith realized,  _she doesn't even have the strength to scream_.   
  
Voldemort lifted the curse and Wraith could hear McGonagall gasping painfully for breath. "You…cannot win, Riddle," she said, her voice a harsh whisper. "…There will always… _always_ …be those…to fight you. Even…if you kill me…another will take…my place."   
  
" _Enough_ ," Voldemort hissed. He raised his wand again. " _Avada_ ––"   
  
Wraith darted forward to stand between them. The green light of the curse hit her squarely in the chest and she was briefly shocked by the sting of it. The pain threw her, for such spells had never had any effect on her at all. One hand pressed to her heart, Wraith straightened and met the astonished eyes of Lord Voldemort.   
  
"Forgive me, my Lord," she said softly, fear making her voice shaky.   
  
"What are you doing, my Wraith?" the Dark Lord asked slowly.   
  
"You need her alive, my Lord," she said. "She hasn't given you the information you need yet."   
  
"Stand aside," Voldemort ordered sharply.   
  
"Forgive me, my Lord," Wraith said again, "but no." She took a breath. "Don't let her goad you into killing her! Can't you see that's what she wants? If––"   
  
Her voice cut off suddenly as a quick and deep pain swept through her. She cried out sharply, hands pressed to her temples. The pain was gone just as suddenly. A warning shot. Wraith lifted her eyes to Voldemort again. "You won't thank me for letting you make this mistake," she told him, refusing to budge.   
  
Voldemort's eyes narrowed and he lifted a hand, preparing to take further power from her. Wraith flinched away from him, expecting the pain.  
  
"Please."   
  
The word fell from her lips unbidden.   
  
The pain did not come.   
  
Wraith dared to open her eyes. Voldemort's eyes still burned with fury, but beneath it was contemplation. Wraith stepped towards him, hand outstretched. "Snape is brewing a truth potion," she said almost desperately. She touched his arm, now standing beside him. "It will be ready in a month." Cautiously, she reached up and touched his cheek, turning his face to hers. "Just one month and you'll have all you need."   
  
Voldemort took her hand and lowered it. "I do not have a month's patience," he snapped. "And I doubt she has that long to live in any case––" He paused, a dark light coming to his eyes. He looked to where McGonagall lay within the cell.   
  
"Heal her."   
  
Wraith blinked and then her eyes darted between him and her. "…What?"   
  
Voldemort touched her shoulder and pushed her forward. "Heal her," he commanded. "Heal her so that I may begin anew."   
  
Wraith felt as if she had been hollowed out. There was a distant roaring sound in her ears and she couldn't bring herself to move. "M-my Lord––"   
  
"Do it!" Voldemort told her, drawing a quick breath of her power.   
  
Wraith jerked at the pain, but in truth she barely felt it. Numbly, she reached up to touch the thin line of blood above her lip. "Yes, my Lord."   
  
Voldemort smiled at her agreement. "Find me when you have finished," he ordered, striding towards the stairs.   
  
"Yes, my Lord." The words were spoken so softly that he did not hear them.   
  
Slowly, Wraith forced herself to take a step towards the cell and then another. She touched a hand to the bars and passed through them like smoke.   
  
McGonagall was a broken wreck of human form. Her silvered black hair hung limply around her worn face. She was as pale as Wraith, every inch of bare skin touched by bruises and half-healed wounds. Her fingertips were raw from the cold of the dungeon and her breath was labored and heavy.   
  
Wraith sat, legs tucked beneath her, and gently drew McGonagall's head into her lap. The older woman's eyes opened slightly to look up at her.   
  
"Thank you, child."   
  
"Don't," Wraith whispered harshly. "Don't you thank me. I have done you no favors."  
  
She placed her hands on either side of McGonagall's head and closed her eyes, drawing upon her power.   
  
"Child…you're bleeding…"   
  
"It will pass," Wraith murmured distractedly.   
  
"I…didn't see," McGonagall said, her voice growing weaker, "…Did…did he hit you?"   
  
"No," Wraith said simply. "Now be quiet."   
  
Slowly Wraith's power crept into the woman's broken body, healing the surface wounds and seeking out the deeper ones beneath the skin. Time drifted as she worked and so did she.   
  
After nearly an hour, Wraith came back to herself. She blinked suddenly and life filled her eyes again. McGonagall lay perfectly still, but her breathing was normal. Wraith looked down at her, seeing the wounds upon her face were reduced to scars, and that even those were fading as she watched.   
  
McGonagall stirred as she had fallen asleep and again looked up at Wraith. Her eyes were clearer. At the sight of the girl's face, the woman frowned. She reached up to touch Wraith's cheek and the girl did not think to stop her.   
  
"You're crying," McGonagall whispered in saddened amazement.   
  
Wraith jerked her head away and gently laid McGonagall on the cell floor once more. "Don't move too much," she ordered dispiritedly. "You're still healing. You'll be well again by morning." She sounded almost bitter. Carefully, very aware of the stiffness of her legs, Wraith stood.   
  
"Thank you."   
  
"I told you not to thank me!" Wraith snapped. "All I've done is prolong your suffering, caused you more pain! There is nothing to thank. You'd have been better off if I'd let him kill you!"   
  
"No, child," McGonagall said tiredly. "As long as one is still alive––there is hope."   
  
Wraith could think of nothing to say to that. She slipped through the bars of the cell and then turned back, wrapping her hand around one bar. She paused there as if lost.   
  
"Fred?"   
  
"…Yeah?"   
  
"Just checking," Wraith told him.   
  
She heard his weak laugh and it undid her. Dangling on the edge between hysterical laughter and sobs, she turned and ran. She felt like a coward, but she ran.   
  
  
  
  
Wraith found him waiting alone in the drawing room. He stood near the windows, but turned and smiled when he heard her enter. "My Wraith," he said, crossing slowly to her.   
  
Wraith looked at him, eyes empty. "My Lord."   
  
He touched a hand beneath her chin. "Well?"   
  
"I was able to put the healing in motion," Wraith said tersely, turning her eyes away. "She'll be completely healed by morning."   
  
"I told you to heal her  _now_ ," Voldemort hissed, grabbing her by the arm.   
  
"I did what I was able," Wraith hissed back. "Need I remind you, my Lord, that I am not a healer, but a killer?"   
  
A heavy, dangerous silence fell between them, their eyes locked.   
  
"…Come morning, she will be a clean slate and you may begin anew," Wraith told him.   
  
Voldemort's grip tightened briefly before he let her go with a scowl. "I suppose I shall have to be satisfied with what I have."   
  
Wraith laughed. It had a bitter taste to it. "My Lord," she said sweetly, reaching up to touch his face, "…You will never be satisfied with what you have…It's not your nature."   
  
Dangerously close to that edge again, Wraith turned on her heel and left the drawing room before Voldemort could stop her.   
  
  
  
  
In the hall, she saw Snape approaching her from the corner of her eye.   
  
"Wraith."   
  
She ignored him.   
  
" _Wraith_ , does she live?" Snape took hold of her arm and her control snapped.   
  
She twisted, slapping him sharply across the face. His head snapped to one side, blood trailing down from the four deep scratches across his cheek.   
  
"Never again," Wraith told him, her voice low and harsh. "Never ask me to save another life."   
  
"Are you so fond of your role as Lady Death?" Snape asked cuttingly, reached up to wipe blood from his face.   
  
Wraith grabbed him by the collar and pulled his face close. "He made me  _heal_  her," she whispered. Snape could practically hear the panic clawing its way out of her. "Do you understand?"   
  
"I do," Snape said slowly.   
  
He took her hand and pried it from his robes. Wraith stood there, hands clenching at air, staring at Snape without seeing him. A shiver passed through her and she closed her eyes.   
  
"Is it so much harder to heal than to hurt?" Snape asked her.   
  
Wraith opened her eyes.   
  
"Never again," she repeated, turning away from him.


	60. Silence

_"The silence of a treacherous man is to be feared more than his words."_  
  
  
  
  
The sun had set only moments before and the edge of the sky was still stained blood-red and orange. The evening air was frigid when Lord Voldemort stepped outside. He had used one of the Manor's side doors––the door that opened onto the Rose Maze. His odd awareness of his Wraith had led him there.   
  
Voldemort stood near the entrance of the Maze, on edge to see whether or not the girl had dared to disobey him by entering the Maze. "Wraith?"   
  
"Here, my Lord." Wraith stepped around the corner of the Maze, smirking just a little.   
  
"May I ask why you are out here, pet?" the Dark Lord asked, turning to face with her suspicious eyes.   
  
Wraith shrugged lightly. "Curiosity," she replied ambiguously as she touched a hand to one blackened rose.   
  
Voldemort relaxed slightly, recognizing the mischievous air about her. "Were you testing me again?" he asked her.   
  
She tilted her head to the side, an impish gleam to her eyes. "Just a little," she said. "I  _did_  wonder if close proximity to the Rose Maze would get your attention, but I was telling the truth about being curious." She stepped away from the Maze and towards him. "Don't worry," she said. "I hate what the Manor still does to me––I'm not about to go exploring somewhere that might be worse."   
  
"What is it that draws your curiosity?"   
  
"I wonder at its purpose," Wraith said, turning to look at the wall of dead roses.   
  
"I'm not sure that it ever truly had one," Voldemort said, watching her. "It was never intended to be a maze. In my ancestor's time they were simply rose bushes, but they overgrew and old enchantments twisted them into the shape they are now."   
  
"Old enchantments?"   
  
"My ancestor was an innovator," Voldemort said. "He experimented…sought to expand his power."   
  
The Dark Lord paused and his silence drew Wraith's curiosity more than his words had.   
  
"As with all experiments, there were…mistakes."   
  
"Ah," Wraith's eyes drifted back to the Maze as she finally understood. "He buried his secrets beneath the roses and they grew to help conceal them."   
  
Voldemort's eyes flickered with what could have been alarm. He took sharp hold of Wraith's chin, forcing her to look at him. When she blinked at him in slight confusion, he released her.   
  
"Come," he told her, turning away from the Maze.   
  
Wraith glanced once more at the blackened roses before she too turned, following her Lord back into the Manor.   
  
  
  
  
Voldemort settled back into his chair, his eyes following Wraith as she paced in front of the window. "You seem restless, pet," he commented.  
  
Wraith paused and looked to him. She hadn't realized that she was pacing so. "I suppose I am," she replied, an almost sad tone to her words. She leaned against the window frame, crossing her arms over her chest. "You haven't had much for me to do lately."   
  
Voldemort tilted his head, studying her. "That is true," he admitted. "Since we destroyed that first rebellion within my ranks, there has been little opposition and therefore, as you say, very little to keep you occupied."   
  
"I want something to do," Wraith told him, stepping away from the window. "Outside of the Manor, if at all possible," she added, not meeting his eyes.   
  
"Are you so disturbed by this place, pet?"   
  
"Yes," she told him bluntly. "There is something here, within the Manor that raised my hackles. I'm never at rest here, my Lord, not even when I sleep."   
  
Her voice broke slightly on the last word, making Voldemort's eyes narrow. He gestured to her, silently ordering her to come closer. She obeyed and sat at his feet, resting clasped hands upon his knee. He touched her hair and ran his fingers down her pale cheek.   
  
"Have you had more nightmares?" he asked her firmly.   
  
Still, she would not meet his eyes. "Yes, my Lord," she murmured. She took a breath, "But they aren't like that first one. They're…To be honest, my Lord, I can barely remember what passes in them when I wake up. It's all just dark shapes and shadows and…and pain." She shivered, barely noticeable, but the Dark Lord felt it.   
  
Voldemort was silent. His eyes drifted to the fireplace as he absentmindedly stroked Wraith's hair. "I'll find something to distract you," he said finally, looking down at her again. "I hate to waste your powers in any way, but you'll be of no use to me if you're so very restive."   
  
Wraith smiled slightly and rested her cheek upon his knee. "Thank you, my Lord. I do appreciate it." She sighed, closing her eyes a moment to gather her thoughts. "May I ask you a question?"  
  
"What?"  
  
She hesitated and then lifted her head. "…If you hadn't kissed me––if you hadn't claimed me for yourself––would you still have threatened my Watcher with death when you found out what he did to me?"  
  
The Dark Lord paused to consider the question. The expression in his Wraith's eyes demanded a truthful answer.  
  
"I do not know," he told her. "It  _is_  likely that his punishment would have been less…hm… _severe_. But believe me, my Wraith; he would have been punished nonetheless." He touched a hand beneath her chin. "Why do you ask?"  
  
"Curiosity," she told him with the smallest of smiles. "…I want to know just where I stand with you…"  
  
She fell silent, but the Dark Lord saw the question in her eyes. The edge of his mouth curled slightly and he nodded just once. The faintly impish gleam returned to Wraith's eyes as she stood and then leaned down. She rested her hands upon the armrests and lowered her face to Voldemort's level. He tilted his head up so that their lips met, barely touching.   
  
When he lifted a hand to touch the small of her back, Wraith pulled away a little. "And have you decided what you want from me, my Lord?" she asked softly. There was a trace of nervousness in the back of her eyes, but Voldemort smiled to hear the question.   
  
He stood, making her take a step back. "I've thought about it," he told her, touching a hand under her chin again. He took another step, forcing her to back away until her hip hit the desk. "In fact, I've likely spent a little too much time in considering it." He bent, his mouth at her ear as he added, "You can be  _such_  a distraction."   
  
Wraith shivered as he kissed the space just below her ear and her hands sought purchase on the desk behind her. Voldemort's hands curled around her waist and he helped her onto the edge of the desk. Settled there, Wraith slipped one arm around the Dark Lord's neck as his mouth skimmed over hers, oddly gentle. When her lips trembled apart, he slipped his tongue between them, teasing hers. Wraith made a soft sound in the back of her throat, surprised, but she did not pull away.   
  
Voldemort put a hand at her back, slowly pulling her closer to him. Her knees dug into his waist as she clung to him, one hand on his shoulder and the other still around his neck. Fascinated and curious despite the echoing taste of her fear, she traced his mouth with the tip of her tongue, seeming to savor him as he did her.   
  
The hand upon her back clenched and he pulled back. His inhuman eyes seemed to burn into hers and the trembling fear inside her gave a lurch at the expression in them.   
  
"Are you frightened, pet?" he whispered darkly, his hand gently stroking her back.   
  
"Yes," she murmured, her voice trembling slightly. The hand on his shoulder slowly slid down to his collarbone and her eyes followed. Taking hold of the front of his robes, she smirked, "…But don't stop." And she pulled him back to her.  
  
  
  
  
Snape climbed the stairs of the tower, his stride heavy and none too hurried. He winced at the thought of trying to explain to the Dark Lord what had happened at Hogwarts on his watch. Even Dumbledore had had no explanation as to what had occurred!   
  
Lifting a hand to his cheek, he felt the partially healed scratches there. He had not bothered to heal them himself. He supposed, though he would never admit it even to himself, that he wanted to see the Wraith's reaction to them. Would she be there with the Dark Lord?   
  
Snape gritted his teeth as he lifted a hand to knock on the Dark Lord's door.  
  
  
  
  
"God _damn_  it," Wraith whispered the curse vehemently as she twisted her head towards the door. "Do they all have some kind of bloody sixth sense?"   
  
Voldemort too was scowling at the door as a second knock came. "One of these days, we're going to ignore whoever comes to that blasted door."   
  
"But not tonight," Wraith said, her eyes narrowing. "That's Snape behind the door. He wouldn't bother you unless it was important." With a sigh, she turned back to Voldemort. "I'm going to go for a walk," she said slowly, her fingers tracing his neck, "to clear my head."   
  
Voldemort stepped away from her and her touch, allowing her to slip off the desk. "Go let him in," he ordered as she walked around the edge of the desk.   
  
"Yes, my Lord," Wraith said. She pulled the door open and gave Snape an arched look. She stepped to the side so that he could pass her. "Severus," she said, gesturing for him to enter.   
  
"Good evening, Lady Wraith," he replied, looking between her and the Dark Lord. He was curious to see Wraith flush slightly as she ducked out of the door, closing it behind her.   
  
"What brings you here, Severus?" Voldemort demanded a little sharply.   
  
"…The ghosts have abandoned Hogwarts," Snape told the Dark Lord, getting right to the point though he wondered just what he had interrupted. "Or at least, they have gone where they cannot be followed. There is no trace of them that I can find. I am at a loss as to how they've done, seeing as they were all bound to the castle or grounds."   
  
Voldemort slowly sat down in his chair, eyes narrowed as he took in the information. "When did you notice their absence?" he asked.   
  
"This evening," Snape said, "though honestly, they may have dispersed earlier in the day without my notice."   
  
"And I suppose the portraits aren't being helpful?"   
  
"Not in the slightest," Snape replied dryly. "My Lord, there are places within Hogwarts that are…difficult to reach. It is possible that the ghosts have gathered there where they cannot be seen."   
  
And his Wraith had been asking for something to do, the Dark Lord mused.   
  
"Return to the castle," he ordered Snape. "If you have found nothing by tomorrow night, I will send my Wraith to assist you."   
  
Snape raised an eyebrow. "The Wraith, my Lord?"   
  
"There is no place in Hogwarts that she can't reach, Severus," Voldemort said patiently. "If the ghosts are hiding somewhere in the castle, she will find them."


	61. Within the Walls

_"Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth."_  
  
  
  
  
Wraith strode up the front steps of Hogwarts, breathing in the cool air of evening as she approached Snape. He raised an eyebrow at the sight of her. For the first time in his memory, she wasn't wearing a dress. Instead she wore black pants and vest over a pale blue shirt, her dark hair twisted into a long plait down her back. When she saw his surprise, she sneered delicately.   
  
"My Lady," he said, bowing his head.  
  
"I hate those words from your mouth," she told him as she stepped into the entrance hall. "You mock me with them."   
  
Snape's temper flared, but he kept his mouth shut. He fell into step beside her without comment. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, almost disappointed by his lack of sharp retort. With a sigh, she stopped and turned to him. "The Dark Lord explained what he could about the ghosts of Hogwarts," she began, crossing her arms, "and that you believe they may be hiding somewhere within the castle that you cannot reach."   
  
"An accurate summary," Snape commented lightly.   
  
Wraith turned slowly, taking in the sights of the hall and counting various doors and halls. Without turning back to him, she said, "I'll explore a little––You can…go back to whatever it is you do here," she told him, gesturing vaguely.   
  
Snape scowled and before she could walk away he stepped into her path. "I think it would be best if I acted as your guide," he told her firmly, ignoring the flash of irritation that passed through her eyes. "There are places within the castle that you could run into trouble," he said, "especially alone."   
  
"And when I get to a place where you cannot follow?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.   
  
"Then you will tell me so and I will wait for you."   
  
Wraith started to argue further, but then stopped, raising her eyes to the ceiling as if praying for patience. "Fine," she snapped. "Where do we start?"   
  
"The dungeons are the most likely," Snape said. "There are many passages below that, over the years, have been closed off."   
  
Wraith nodded and followed him in the silence through the door that led down below the castle.   
  
They spent several unbearably long hours searching through the various dark corners of the dungeon, but Wraith sense nothing and thus nothing came of the search. It didn't help that Wraith felt her nerves set on edge with claustrophobia. The dungeons were nothing like those of Slytherin Manor. They held no prisoners. But still Wraith had the vague sense she was being buried alive.   
  
Fairly tired and still irritable, Wraith stalked back to the entrance hall several steps ahead of Snape. When she reached the hall, she wanted very badly to throw open the front doors and race outside. But she was determined not to show this need to Snape. He had seen her weak and helpless far too many times for her taste.   
  
Snape closed the door that led to the dungeons, scowling slightly.   
  
"Well, that was productive," Wraith muttered under her breath.   
  
"Actually, it was," Snape said crossly. "We've eliminated part of the castle as a possibility."   
  
Wraith sneered and rubbed her aching head, turning away from him. Snape considered her. "You don't like closed in spaces, do you?"   
  
"Would you stop  _analyzing_  me, please?" she snapped at him. Exhaling sharply, she crossed to the front doors and pulled one open, stepping out into the cold. She sat halfway down the stairs and rested her head in her hands.   
  
Snape started to follow her, but he stopped at the threshold. He sighed. "If there's one thing that I truly  _don't_  miss about being a teacher, it's dealing with petulant teenagers."   
  
  
"Better a petulant teenager than a cantankerous old man," Wraith said without lifting her head from her hands.   
  
"Hmph." Snape crossed his arms and studied her. "…I wonder," he said slowly, "I've heard several stories about Dominic Gavin's 'disappearance'…" He saw Wraith's back stiffen and pressed forward. "Rowle claimed that the man was dragged out of the Manor last month by two dementors. He said that Gavin was screaming as they took him away––screaming  _your_  name." He paused, watching Wraith carefully. "Would Gavin be the reason you hate enclosed spaces, Lady Wraith? Were you locked away in Azkaban as he is now?"   
  
There was a heavy silence. Then, very slowly, Wraith stood, turning to look up at him.   
  
"…Do I go prying into your business?" she demanded softly.   
  
"Are you warning me to mind my own?" Snape asked her, assessing her face for any threat.   
  
For a long moment, they simply stared at each other, neither giving an inch. Finally, Wraith shook her head once. "I don't intend to stay the night here," she said briskly as she started back up the steps. "Let's keep looking."    
  
  
  
  
This time Wraith took the lead, if only because she longed to be a step ahead of Snape. She led him up the staircase to the higher stories of the castle and he followed without comment. They walked in the darkening halls in silence, with Wraith trailing a hand along the walls, her eyes half-closed as she searched with more than just her eyes. Both she and Snape fell into a slower pace as they reached the third floor––There were many different halls and passages to choose from.   
  
"Wait," Wraith said softly, coming to a halt. Her hand was pressed to what seemed to be a blank stretch of wall to the left of a dusty statue. Her eyes closed, she frowned slightly. "There's another passage here," she said without opening her eyes. "Did you know?"   
  
"Yes," Snape told her. "But there's a password. I do not have it."   
  
"You don't need one," Wraith retorted. "You have me."   
  
She inhaled deeply––and then stepped through the wall, leaving Snape alone in the hallway. Snape allowed himself a brief scowl and he turned away from the wall.   
  
"Severus?"   
  
His name was a low whisper coming from the opposite wall. Snape glanced at where the girl had disappeared and then stepped over to the portrait that had called him.   
  
"You shouldn't be down here," Snape hissed, barely moving his lips. "Locked away as the girl was, you've still a very recognizable face, Dumbledore."   
  
"She's very focused, isn't she?" Dumbledore whispered, as if he hadn't heard Snape's words at all.   
  
"She doesn't like to disappoint her Lord," Snape said with a touch of bitterness. "You've seen a touch of her powers now," he said to the portrait. "What do you think?"   
  
"The power she has seems very…raw," Dumbledore said, frowning slightly, "But I'd have to see more to tell you anything else."   
  
Snape nodded and stepped away, ending the whispered conversation abruptly. A few moments later, Wraith stepped back through the wall. There was streak of dust along one pale cheek and a cobweb in her hair that she batted at ineffectually.   
  
"Nothing," she told Snape. "Well, nothing but spiders and dust anyway," she corrected with a sigh. "Shall we?" she asked, gesturing down the hall.   
  
"May I ask a question?"   
  
"If you really feel you must," Wraith muttered.   
  
"Why the Muggle outfit?" Snape asked, gesturing to the pants and shirt. "I don't believe I've ever seen you not in a dress or robes."   
  
"I knew I'd seeking secret pathways and hidden rooms," she replied snidely. "I didn't want to have to worry about my skirts. This is easier."   
  
Snape considered her as they walked. "Very practical," he said, his brow rising.   
  
"You sound surprised," Wraith said, sparing him a glance. "Am I not allowed to be practical?"   
  
"And does the Dark Lord approve of your…outfit?"   
  
"What the Dark Lord does not know cannot hurt me," Wraith retorted smoothly.   
  
"This isn't the first time you've worn them," he realized.   
  
"It's only the second," she told him defensively. "…Janesch gave them to me," she added.   
  
Snape thought he heard the faintest coldness when she spoke the vampire's name.   
  
"Stop talking," she said impatiently, waving a hand to silence him. "You're distracting me."   
  
"One more question?"   
  
Wraith sighed sharply and turned her head to glare at him.   
  
"At Diagon Alley you were able to sense enchantment––can you not do the same here?"   
  
"That's what I  _am_  doing," she told him edgily. "But it's harder here. The whole castle is filled with magicks, old and new, and many of the enchantments I've never seen so I can't recognize them for what they are. That's why we're going slowly," she said, "so I don't miss anything."   
  
"I see," Snape said. "I'll be quiet now."   
  
"Thank you," Wraith said with false gratitude, having caught the sarcasm in his tone.   
  
They started up another staircase to the fourth floor in silence once more. The hour was growing late––Wraith could see stars glittering on the dark field of the sky when they passed a window. Caught by the view of the lake, she paused there.   
  
"What is it?" Snape asked.   
  
"Nothing," Wraith said softly. She blinked and forcefully turned her head away. "I was just looking at the lake."   
  
Feeling suddenly defensive, Wraith hurried her pace up the stairs. Distracted, she didn't notice when one stair cracked beneath her––until several stairs suddenly collapsed from under her, opening onto a dark chasm below.   
  
Wraith felt herself falling suddenly and screamed. Snape launched himself forward and caught her wrist just before it went out of sight. Looking down, Wraith saw no bottom to the chasm and the seemingly endless darkness paralyzed her.   
  
"Wraith!" Snape shouted at her, reached for her other hand. "Wraith,  _come on!_ "   
  
Turning her eyes back up to him, she grabbed the offered hand. Taking a breath, she called on a wind to lift herself up. Holding fast to her hands, Snape caught her and pulled her back to the stairs.   
  
On solid ground once more, Wraith allowed herself a moment to breathe before she pushed away from Snape. "Is that the kind of trouble you meant before?" she asked, a little shaky.   
  
"No," Snape said, gazing down the chasm, "No, that's new."   
  
"But where did it come from?" Wraith asked. "Someone must have created it." She looked at Snape, frowning. "Who was it  _meant_  for, do you think?"   
  
"Most likely for me," Snape said, paling just slightly. "This wasn't here earlier," he added under his breath.   
  
"Could someone of the Order gotten in the castle?"   
  
"I don't know," Snape said slowly. "I would've said no, but…seeing  _this_? I don't know."   
  
"Could…could the  _ghosts_  have had something to do with it?" Wraith asked incredulously.   
  
"Unlikely," Snape replied. "Most phantoms cannot manipulate solid objects. A poltergeist could theoretically, but the only one that inhabited Hogwarts––Well, this wasn't his style."  
  
"But what if they all worked together?" Wraith suggested. "The Dark Lord said there were hundreds of ghosts within the walls of Hogwarts once upon a time––Could they have raised enough power  _together_?"   
  
Snape breathed deeply and turned away from the deadly trap. "I think that's enough searching tonight," he said to Wraith.   
  
"I agree," she said simply. "I should report back to the Dark Lord with this." She started down the stairs and then paused. "But I'll return tomorrow," she told him. "I can at least help uncover anymore traps that might be waiting for you."   
  
Snape blinked at her, a touch of his surprise showing through.   
  
"…To thank you," Wraith said, most unwillingly, not looking at him. "You did, after all, just save my life."   
  
When Snape smirked in understanding, Wraith scowled.   
  
"I'm quite tired of always being in your debt, Severus Snape," she told him sharply. "That's a habit we'll have to break," she added rather darkly.


	62. Trustworthy

_"A man who doesn't trust himself can never truly trust anyone else."_  
  
  
  
  
Wraith knocked on the Dark Lord's tower door, waiting only a moment before she stepped inside. Voldemort, sitting behind his desk, looked up as she crossed the room to him. She wore a black dressing gown and her feet were bare.   
  
"I thought you might like a report before I went to bed," Wraith said quietly, tucking a strand of damp hair behind her ear.   
  
"A correct assessment," Voldemort said, gesturing for her to sit.   
  
Wraith did so, settling at his feet. "We didn't find any sign of the ghosts," she began, "but…we did stumble into a trap."   
  
Voldemort's gaze sharpened. "A trap?"   
  
"The staircase from the third floor to the fourth," Wraith said. "About halfway up…a few stairs gave way. Judging from the depth of the rift below––It was meant to be deadly."   
  
"But you and Severus are unharmed?"   
  
"Yes," Wraith said. She cleared her throat, not meeting the Dark Lord's eyes. "…I reached the trap first…Snape caught me before I fell."   
  
"You don't sound happy about that," Voldemort commented.   
  
Wraith gave him an arched look. "I dislike being in someone's debt."   
  
"Are you not in mine?"   
  
"…That's not the same at all," Wraith said softly.   
  
Voldemort looked down, considering her. Slowly, he sat back and smiled darkly. "Why don't you come and sit with me, pet?" he suggested.   
  
Wraith chewed on her lower lip, confused by the combination of thrill and alarm that coursed under her skin at his tone. Keeping her eyes on his, she crawled up and settled lightly into his lap, arms carefully curling her arms around his neck to steady herself. Practically eye to eye with him, it took all her willpower not to flinch when his hands went around her waist.   
  
He touched his lips to hers gently, but then bent his head to her neck instead. Wraith tilted her head back and shivered as his teeth grazed along the pale line of her throat. One of his hands slid up her back to curl into her damp hair, while the other slipped around her waist to tug at the sash of her dressing gown. Curious, Voldemort pulled open the thin robe to see the soft white nightgown his Wraith wore beneath it. The skirt likely ended just below her knees when she was standing, but sitting as she was in his lap, the hem was hiked up to just above them.   
  
Wraith watched, almost disconnectedly, as he ran his fingertips down along the line of her calf and back up again. She didn't even realize that she had begun to tremble until the Dark Lord's eyes locked with hers. Seeing the fear swimming in her eyes more than anything else, Voldemort sighed impatiently.   
  
"Stand," he told her abruptly.   
  
Wraith complied, her hands shaking with the effort not to pull her robes closed again. He'd seen her in a nightgown before; she scolded herself silently, trying to assuage her apprehension.   
  
Voldemort studied her a moment before he too stood and crossed to stand before her. "You feel so easily trapped, my pet," he said, touching a hand to her cheek.   
  
Wraith leaned into his touch, desperate not to disappoint him. "I'm sorry, my Lord," she whispered, closing her eyes.   
  
"I've patience enough, my Wraith," he assured her, amusement shimmering darkly in his voice. "Perhaps you had best seek your bed."   
  
Wraith started to smile, relieved, but then she stepped back from him. "Why do I have the feeling you're trying to soften me up for something?" she asked him, suddenly suspicious.   
  
Voldemort laughed under his breath. "Clever girl," he said. "…I suppose that I am."   
  
"And what is that?" Wraith asked slowly, apprehensive again.   
  
"Dolohov has discovered the location of another Order safe-house," he said. "We'll be conducting a raid tomorrow night."   
  
"Oh," Wraith said.   
  
"I'll ask that you…stay behind this time."   
  
Wraith's eyes widened in understanding, and whatever fear they had held before was nothing compare to what they expressed then. Moving shakily, Wraith bowed her head. "A-as you wish, my Lord."   
  
He touched a hand beneath her chin, lifting her eyes to his again. "You are aware that it will hurt you for me to borrow power from you," he reminded her. "I think that it would be best for me to leave someone to…watch over you…Someone who could alert me if I begin to take too much from you." He tilted his head to one side, "Perhaps your friend Harper?"   
  
"No," Wraith said quickly. She licked suddenly dry lips. "Not Harper––none of the baby recruits––I don't think it's a good idea for many of your followers to see my weakness…It should be someone who already knows."   
  
"You've a point, pet, but who do you suggest?"   
  
"Snape," she said, rather unwillingly. "He's already figured out a little of our…connection…from what he saw in Diagon Alley and right after. Would you trust him to watch over me?"   
  
"I suppose that he proved today that he could be trusted with your life," Voldemort said, considering it. "I'll speak to him tomorrow."   
  
Wraith nodded silently and, feeling it was safe enough to do so, pulled her dressing gown closed. "Goodnight, my Lord," she said swiftly as she turned away and crossed to the door.   
  
  
  
  
Snape sat in brooding silence behind the Headmaster's desk, his black eyes unreadable. The events of the night had left him unsettled, though only Dumbledore was really able to read it.   
  
"Severus? Are you alright?" the portrait asked.   
  
A heavy silence followed the question.   
  
"Dumbledore…" Snape said slowly, as if the words were difficult to say, "…Should I have let her fall?"   
  
Dumbledore was stunned into momentary silence. "Severus, you cannot think like that."   
  
"And yet I do," Snape said darkly. "I must. What if I come to regret that decision, Dumbledore? Her death would very well save lives––and you  _cannot_  deny that!" he said sharply when Dumbledore tried to argue.   
  
"You speak as if you had consciously made the decision to save her," the portrait said after a moment. "But you didn't, Severus. It was purely instinct."   
  
Snape closed his eyes. The girl's scream had cut through him like a knife, propelling him forward. Dumbledore was right. It  _had_  been instinct. "If such a situation arises again––I may have to consider it more carefully."   
  
"She's barely a child," Dumbledore said.   
  
"She's dangerous," Snape replied simply. "And she's deadly."   
  
"Severus, have you  _ever_  seen her kill without orders from Voldemort?"   
  
"Only once," Snape said, "Months ago, when the Dark Lord called the werewolves here. Katherine Talbot."   
  
"Yes," Dumbledore said softly. "You did speak of it before…But you said yourself that Katherine was beyond saving. Couldn't she have done it out of mercy?"   
  
"She did it out of panic," Snape said bitingly. "Yes, in truth she did the woman a mercy, but that was irrelevant. She did it only to stop the screaming, to save her own sanity." He sighed deeply and turned his back on the portrait. "It may come to it that I have to do the same."   
  
  
  
  
It was early in the evening when Snape Apparated to the woods that encircled Slytherin Manor. The Dark Mark still stung with Lord Voldemort's call to all his Death Eaters. Snape was fairly certain he knew what was coming––the safe-house in Devon had been found out through a well-placed Imperious Curse done by Dolohov. Snape wasn't looking forward to being a part of the raid that would most likely take place.   
  
The Death Eaters gathered in the drawing room, where the Dark Lord and his Wraith already waited. Snape wondered if he imagined the tension between them.   
  
"My Lord," he said with a short bow. He spared Wraith a glance. "My Lady."   
  
Voldemort gestured to the chair at his right. "Severus, prompt as ever," he said.   
  
Wraith said nothing––In fact, she was quite plainly avoiding Snape's eye.   
  
Snape sat without further comment and watched as several more of the Dark Lord's followers arrived. When Bellatrix and her husband arrived, Snape noted with interest that Wraith touched an idle hand to the dagger at her belt.   
  
 _Still no love lost between the two of them_ , he thought as Bellatrix paled slightly.  _Good._    
  
Voldemort touched a hand to his Wraith's in a silent warning. Wraith smirked slightly and dropped her challenging gaze. In truth, the Dark Lord looked rather amused at the exchange, rather than angry with her. "My loyal followers," he said, addressing them. "Dolohov has provided us with very useful information and tonight we shall act upon. An Order safe-house has been discovered." He paused to smile darkly. "It has been many months since we've been able to enjoy ourselves so. Let's make the most of tonight, shall we? Dolohov, your report."   
  
As the Death Eater began to speak, Wraith's eyes darted over to meet Snape's. It only lasted a moment, but Snape saw the uncertainty burning in the blue of her gaze. She looked almost afraid of him.  _Something's wrong here_ , Snape realized as the girl quickly looked away again. Snape looked her over, silently willing her to turn back to him. It was then he noticed that while she wore a white gown, she was not wearing a cloak as the rest did. Was she not going with them?   
  
After they had been briefed on the location and layout of the safe-house, the Death Eaters slowly stood and began to file out of the room. Snape stood as well, but the Dark Lord stopped him.   
  
"Sit a moment longer, Severus," Voldemort told him. "You aren't going with us."   
  
"My Lord?"   
  
"I have another task for you instead. My Wraith tells me that you have deduced that I am able to draw upon her power to fuel my own."   
  
"Yes, my Lord," Snape said hesitantly, glancing at the girl again.   
  
"I intend to do so tonight, as something of an experiment," the Dark Lord said. "Drawing the power from her weakens her greatly. I'm appointing you to watch over her tonight––and if it seems that I draw too much, then you are to alert me using the Mark."   
  
"As you command, you Lord," Snape said with a bow of his head.   
  
"I'm entrusting her to you, Severus," Voldemort said slowly, running a hand over Wraith's dark hair. He touched a hand to her chin, turning her face towards his. "She's told me of how you saved her from a fall last night, so I believe my trust isn't misplaced."   
  
The Dark Lord stood and Wraith copied his movement a moment later. Still a little stunned, it took Snape a second to do the same.   
  
Voldemort brushed Wraith's pale cheek. "Wish us luck tonight, pet."   
  
"You hardly need it, my Lord," Wraith replied, raising an eyebrow. Looking to Snape, her eyes hardened. Without a word, she followed the Dark Lord out into the hall where the others waited. Snape was a step behind, also silent.   
  
Harper and Vaisey stood near the doorway, excitement written clearly on their faces. This would be their first real assignment from the Dark Lord. Harper caught Wraith's eye and grinned. She could not return his smile. Instead, she turned away, heading towards the stairs.   
  
Snape glanced at Voldemort, who nodded once. Unsure of what was to come, Snape followed in Wraith's footsteps.    
  
Wraith led the way to her tower room, to Snape's silent surprised and uneasiness. As they stepped into the room, Snape addressed her, "What exactly am I expected to do here?"   
  
"It's simple really," Wraith said, her tone sharp, moving to stand beside her bed. "You make sure that I keep breathing."   
  
Snape frowned. "Is it going to be that bad?" he asked incredulously.   
  
Wraith laughed weakly and did not answer. She unclasped the belt at her waist and slipped the dagger from it. Crossing back to him, she placed it in his hand.   
  
"You will quite literally hold my life in your hands tonight, Severus Snape," she told him, eyes boring into his. "The Dark Lord trusts you with it."   
  
Snape felt uneasy. Did the girl have her own method of Legilimency? Could she read the thoughts racing behind his eyes?   
  
Dropping her eyes, Wraith went back to the bed and sat down, head bowed. Her hair created a dark curtain to hide her face. Snape stared at her, struck again by how delicate she appeared.    
  
"…Wraith?" He spoke softly as he crossed to her.   
  
"I'm scared," she said simply.   
  
"Why?" Snape asked her, surprised by the honesty.   
  
She lifted her head to meet his stare, her lips twisted into a bitter smile.  
  
"…Because this is  _really_  going to hurt."


	63. Torture

_"What is that you express in your eyes? It seems to me more than all the words I have read in my life."_  
  
  
  
  
Snape moved one of the chairs to the side of Wraith's bed with a murmured charm under the girl's sharp eye. Pocketing his wand, he realized that he still held the dagger in his other hand. He looked down at it for a moment, wondering what significance the girl had meant when she'd placed in his hand.   
  
"…Why was I chosen to guard you?" he asked, setting the blade down upon the bedside table.   
  
"The Dark Lord trusts you more than any other," Wraith said, "save for myself, perhaps. Why shouldn't I have chosen you?"   
  
Snape did not answer. Instead, he sat down and settled back into the chair. "I know that you will be weakened when the Dark Lord takes power, but what exactly will happen to you?"   
  
"I will seizure," she replied shortly. "––You may have to stop me from hurting myself."   
  
Snape heard her voice shake a little. "Why do you do this if it hurts you so?" he couldn't help but ask.   
  
"Don't you know?" Wraith asked, tilting her head to one side. "Power is our Lord's drug of choice…I exist to feed his addiction." She saw his eyes narrow and the slightest shiver run down his spine. "Am I making you uncomfortable?" she asked him, smirking slightly.   
  
Snape chose not to reply. Silence fell for several tense minutes before Wraith found the need to break it. "It's funny," she said softly. "The Dark Lord speaks of 'borrowing' power from me––but he doesn't borrow…He  _rips_  it from me…like he's tearing the flesh from my bones." She lifted her eyes to Snape's again. "You never did answer my question," she said, her tone entirely different. Snape frowned at her.   
  
"I beg your pardon?"   
  
"Why do you dislike me so?"   
  
He hesitated in his answer. "Perhaps I feel that you have…taken my place."   
  
Wraith laughed humorlessly, thinking to what had passed between her and the Dark Lord the night before. "I certainly hope I haven't," she said with another twisted smile. "If I have then I've seriously misjudged your character."   
  
Snape's frown deepened and Wraith flushed, her smiling melting away.   
  
"You did not hear me say that," she told him firmly.   
  
"Say what? I've no notion of what you mean."   
  
 _So there_  is  _truth to the rumors._  Snape suppressed another shudder.   
  
"You disturb me."   
  
They were both taken back by the truth that spilled from his mouth. Wraith blinked at him, saying nothing. It was as if she was waiting for him to say more.   
  
 _Ah well, in for a Knut––_    
  
"There are times when you seem all-powerful and to see that kind of power in such young hands is…alarming."   
  
"I'm not all-powerful," Wraith said in a whisper. When she saw the vague mistrust in Snape's eyes, she turned away from him. "If I was all-powerful––I would be somewhere else. I would have the power to tell him 'no'." She forced herself not to look at Snape. "I don't have that power." She moved back into her bed, turning on her side so that her back faced him.   
  
Snape sighed and sat back in the chair, not at all comforted by her words. "One day you will have to tell me just how the Dark Lord came to have such power over you."   
  
"No, I won't."    
  
  
  
  
A half an hour of pure silence passed between them. In that time, Snape began to feel restless, as if he were awaiting a storm to arrive. He stood and paced around the room, examining the ornate tapestries that hung on the walls. He noticed that one of the four grand windows was cracked open and that a perch rested nearby.   
  
"What is this?" he asked, turning to look at Wraith for the first time since the silence had fallen.   
  
Wraith shifted and turned over onto her back to see what he meant. "A perch I conjured for the owl I 'adopted'. I don't see him often––but then, I don't need him much. He always comes when I call."   
  
Snape nodded absentmindedly and stood by the open window. The wind that crept in through the opening was bitingly cold and sent a chill across his sallow skin. He moved away from the window and back to the chair by the bed. He felt Wraith's eyes following his movements, but he did not look at her again.   
  
Wraith folded her hands upon her stomach, considering Snape silently. "May I ask you a question?"   
  
Snape's eyes narrowed, but he nodded once.   
  
"What did you feel…when you killed Albus Dumbledore?"   
  
Snape turned his head to meet her eyes. "…I felt nothing."   
  
"Liar," Wraith whispered.   
  
She stiffened suddenly, her head snapping to look up at the ceiling. Her hands curled into claws on her belly and then fell to grip the bed beneath her. Snape stood in a flash, leaning over the bed to touch a hand to the girl's arm.   
  
"Wraith?"   
  
She bit down on her lip, drawing a thin line of blood. Her body began to shake and a whimper crawled up from her throat. There was strange hum of power in the air––It crackled like electricity around Wraith's thin form.   
  
 _She's trying not to scream_ , Snape realized as the blood from her lip dripped down onto the bed. "Wraith," he said firmly, taking her chin in his hand and turning her face towards his. "Stop holding back. If it hurts, then you scream. Do you understand me?  _Do not hold back!_ "   
  
Tears of pain fell from the corners of her eyes as she ripped her chin from his hold. Her back bowed as the pain intensified and she did as he told her.   
  
She screamed.   
  
  
  
  
"What  _is_  that?" Fred asked in a hushed tone, his eyes turned towards the stairs. "Is…is someone screaming?"   
  
McGonagall lifted her eyes to the ceiling, frowning deeply. She shook slightly as she realized she had heard it before––in Diagon Alley. "It's _her_ ," McGonagall whispered. "It's the Wraith."   
  
Fred tore his eyes from the stairs and began to pace the length of his cell. "Something's happening," he said quickly. "McGonagall, should we…?"   
  
"Wait," McGonagall said firmly.   
  
Someone was coming down the dungeon steps. McGonagall stepped to the bars of her cell to peer out. A house-elf stood at the bottom of the steps, looking around the dungeon with wide fearful eyes. McGonagall held out a hand to him through the bars. "Here," she whispered harshly.   
  
Bede scrambled to McGonagall's cell and bowed to her. "The Dark Lord is gone, Mistress, with all his followers but two." Bede shivered as another high scream echoed down to them.   
  
"The Wraith," McGonagall said, capturing his attention again. "Who else?"   
  
"Snape," Bede replied.   
  
"Have you called for  _them_?" McGonagall asked swiftly.   
  
Bede nodded. "I sent word to Jiri, with the Malfoys. He's another Hogwarts elf, Mistress. He'll send word along indirectly."   
  
"Good," McGonagall said. "You should get back upstairs before you're seen here," she added. "Thank you for your continued loyalty to Hogwarts, Bede."   
  
Bede bowed low, his long nose touching the floor. He hurried away back to the stairs without another word.   
  
"What are they  _doing_  to her?" Fred asked faintly. "It sounds as if she's dying…"   
  
  
  
  
Snape grabbed Wraith's wrists in his hands and pressed them back down to the bed, trying desperately to hold her down as she flailed dangerously. There was a touch of blood just above her eye where she had twisted and slammed against the headboard of the bed. Snape was disturbed by the fact that the cut had not yet healed.   
  
Her screams were high and pitiful and cut right through him. Cursing over the sound of her cries, Snape was forced to straddle her so that she would stay down.   
  
 _He's killing her_ , he thought in panic as a line of dark blood came down from Wraith's nose. Her screams tapered off as she fought to breathe.   _I have to stop this!_    
  
He released one of her wrists and pulled back his left sleeve. He was shocked when Wraith grabbed his hand in a crushing grip to stop him. He looked down at her and saw the fierceness of her eyes.   
  
" _No_ ," she choked out the word, but it was firm as stone.   
  
Snape realized that she wasn't convulsing anymore and released her, getting off of the bed. She still shook, but she did not scream again. Snape reached over to touch a hand to her brow, seeing that the cut had finally healed. He jerked his hand away from her, for the touch of her skin had been fiery hot.   
  
She whimpered and took a sobbing breath. "Over," she murmured listlessly, "It's over…"   
  
Snape could barely hear her. His ears still rang with the sound of her screams. He sighed deeply and fell back into his chair. Putting his hands over his face, he took a moment to calm his racing pulse.  _Never again_ , he swore to himself,  _I'm too old for this_.   
  
He stiffened at the odd sound that suddenly came from Wraith's throat. He stood and hovered over her, seeing her convulse again.  _She's choking_ , he realized. He recalled the scene after the Battle of Diagon Alley and the way she had vomited blood. He turned her on her side and a pool of dark blood fell from her lips. Wraith gagged and spat the remnants of the blood out, coughing weakly.   
  
Snape felt her trembling beneath the hand on her shoulder. "Are you alright?" he asked slowly.   
  
Wraith shook her head, eyes closed. "Still hurts," she whispered faintly. "Oh, it  _hurts_ …"   
  
Snape watched, helpless, as the girl began to sob weakly. "Is there something I can do?" he asked her.   
  
She choked on a humorless laugh. "You can…take that knife…and put it in my heart," she whispered raggedly. "That…would most certainly…stop the pain…"   
  
Snape shivered. He couldn't honestly tell if the girl was joking or not.   
  
Wraith gave another low moan of pain and curled into herself. Slowly, her breath began to even out and Snape realized that the girl had passed out. The silence that rang was as loud as her screams had been. With another sigh, he sat back down to wait.   
  
  
  
  
Wraith's eyes slowly fluttered open. She frowned; her mind muddled by distant pain, and tried to sit up. Weakness overwhelmed her and she was forced to remain prone. Turning her head, she saw Snape sitting in the chair beside her bed.   
  
"Sleep well?" he asked dryly.   
  
She smiled bitterly and did not answer. She looked down at herself and was amused to see that Snape had tucked her in after she'd passed out. "How long?" she asked him, her voice a weak rasp.   
  
"You were out for nearly an hour," he told her. "The Dark Lord has not yet returned."   
  
"I know that," she murmured impatiently. Her frown returned as she looked at him. He was looking at her so oddly. "What? What is it?"   
  
Snape didn't answer right away. "You…were talking in your sleep," he said at last.   
  
Wraith blinked at him. "Did I say anything interesting?" she asked him, twisting her lips into a semblance of a smile.   
  
"You cried for your mother."   
  
Wraith felt a chill in the pit of her stomach. "I don't have a mother," she said coldly.   
  
Snape shrugged, ambivalent to her iciness. "Nevertheless, you called for her." He stood slowly and leaned over her, touching a hand to her brow. She frowned at him, but did not move. "You seem to be back to normal," he told her, stepping back again. "I thought your skin was going to catch fire earlier."   
  
Wraith touched a hand to her cheek. She felt a little warm still, but she did not burn. Feeling tired still, she sighed and closed her eyes.   
  
"That was torture––" Snape said bluntly, "––What the Dark Lord did to you."   
  
Wraith did not argue.


	64. Power

_"Sometimes we do a thing in order to find out the reason for it. Sometimes our actions are questions not answers."_  
  
  
  
  
It wasn't long after that the Dark Lord returned to the Manor along with his Death Eaters. The moment he Apparated back to the grounds, Wraith tried to sit up, having felt his presence. Snape quickly pressed a hand to her shoulder to keep her from rising further.   
  
"Don't push it," he told her. "Let's not make things worse, shall we?"   
  
Wraith threw him an evil look, but she lay back down nonetheless. Her patience was not much tested, for Voldemort immediately made his way up to her tower. When he entered the room, a tired, but delighted smile flickered across Wraith's face. Snape bowed low to the Dark Lord to hide the flash of unease in his eyes.   
  
"My Lord," Wraith said, holding out a hand to him. Voldemort moved closer so that her hand brushed against his arm. Wraith held onto the sleeve of his robe, still smiling.   
  
"And how did we do?" the Dark Lord asked, glancing at Snape questioningly.   
  
"Fine," Wraith said before Snape could say anything. "It wasn't bad."   
  
Snape's eyes narrowed, but he did not bother to argue with her. He also didn't bother to hide his reaction to her lie, so Voldemort was able to read it clearly on his face. "Although," Wraith added, her voice trembling just slightly, "…I don't suppose you have anything to give back?"   
  
Voldemort smiled darkly, reading the weakness and residual pain in her eyes. He looked to Snape briefly. Snape was not at all comfortable with the gleam in the Dark Lord's eyes. "That will be all, Severus, thank you," Voldemort said dismissively, turning his gaze back down to his Wraith.   
  
Snape bowed his head. "Yes, my Lord."   
  
"We shall speak later," the Dark Lord added as Snape moved to the door.   
  
"At your convenience, my Lord," Snape said, glancing at Wraith once last time before he slipped out.   
  
On the stairs, he scowled. What had she meant by that question anyway?   
  
 _"What did you feel…when you killed Albus Dumbledore?"  
  
"I felt nothing."   
  
"Liar." _  
  
That word had felt like a challenge to him, as if she was purposely goading him. He remembered then––the strange flash of something in her eyes when she'd put the dagger in his hand.  _She doesn't trust me not to stab her in the back like Bellatrix_ , he realized.  _Was she testing me tonight to see if I would take advantage of her weakness?_  The more he considered it, the more likely it seemed.   
  
At the bottom of the staircase, he paused and looked back up behind him, wishing rather that the night had never happened.   
  
  
  
  
Voldemort waited until he could no longer hear Snape's footsteps on the stair before he sat on the edge of Wraith's bed. "How do you feel, pet?"   
  
" _Very_  tired," she replied honestly. He still had not answered her question. In truth, she felt empty and weak and she  _hated_  it. "My Lord?" she spoke entreatingly.   
  
"Come here," he murmured, helping her to sit up.   
  
She leaned into him, resting her cheek upon his shoulder. Voldemort ran a hand slowly down her back and Wraith felt the warmth of power course over and under her skin. She sighed softly and pushed back from Voldemort to see his face. "Thank you," she whispered.   
  
Voldemort curled her hair around his fingers. "How tired are you, pet?" he asked in an undertone.   
  
"Not as tired as I was," she told him, smirking. "It's nowhere near as bad as I was after Diagon Alley."   
  
"I did try to take less," he said lightly. "I need to know what your limits are, but I cannot test them with damaging you."   
  
"I do not mind the pain," she said slowly, with just a touch of dark humor, "Just…be sure not to kill me."   
  
Voldemort laughed under his breath and leaned forward. He touched his lips to hers, stirred when her hands slipped up his chest to frame his face. He could taste the blood on her lips and pulled back. Wraith, realizing why he had stopped, touched a hand to her mouth and flushed slightly. She moved to the edge of the bed and stood, her legs shaking only a little.   
  
"I'll be right back," she told him. Under his curious eye, she took out a nightgown from her dresser and took up the black dressing gown she'd thrown across the top of it. Glancing at him, she stepped out of her room.   
  
Voldemort ran his tongue over his lips, tasting the remnant of blood still there.    
  
  
  
  
Not fifteen minutes had passed before Wraith returned dressed in the nightgown and open robe. She paused in the doorway, seeing Voldemort standing beside the fireplace. The only light that remained in the room came from the fire burning there. The Dark Lord turned his head to meet her eyes.   
  
Silent as a mouse, Wraith stepped into the room and closed the door behind her. Slowly, Voldemort crossed the room to meet her halfway. He wrapped his arms around her. She circled his neck. For a moment they stood, lips a breath apart while her system shivered with anticipation. Mouths brushed, retreated, brushed again–– "I don't know what to do," she murmured in the heartbeat that they pulled apart.   
  
"You're doing fine," Voldemort told her and pulled her back. She let out a little gasp of surprised pleasure when he changed the angle of the kiss and dived in again.   
  
She set off aches in him that throbbed like pulse beats. Quiet sounds of need hummed in her throat and burned in his blood. The cool silk of her skin warmed under his touch. So soft, so delicate, she seemed. The taste of her was white and sweet, innocent. The tame hunger in him tried to claw its way to the surface and images flashed through his mind––desires, demands that belonged to the dark.   
  
His grip tightened on her without his realizing. He surfaced the moment he felt her tense in unbidden fear. Determined not to disappoint again, Wraith stayed close despite it.   
  
"I have an idea," she murmured, her eyes flickering towards the chair that remained in front of the fire.   
  
Voldemort followed her eyes and smiled darkly. He stepped away from her to settle into the chair as he had so often before. Wraith started to follow, but then paused. She held up a finger to ask for his patience and crossed back to the door, swiftly locking it. Voldemort was glad she had thought of it. As she walked back to him, she let the robe fall to the ground. Her nightgown seemed a deliberate choice, for it was shorter than usual, ending just at her knees. The soft white fabric hung loosely over her frail form.   
  
She stood before him, hesitating a little.   
  
"Trust me?" she asked him softly.   
  
His eyes roamed over her until they met hers. Wraith shivered at the expression in them.   
  
"To a point," Voldemort replied dryly.   
  
A sudden smile flashed across her face and she moved forward. Lifting her skirt slightly, she placed a knee on each side of his lap, straddling him in the chair. A slow satisfied smile came to the Dark Lord's face as he ran his hands up her sides. Wraith lowered her mouth to his.   
  
She took control as she hadn't known she could, letting her hands excite as they brushed over his shoulders and around his neck, her mouth demand as it took his. If his passion was dark, hers could equal it.   
  
The firelight glowed over her skin, tempting him to taste with quick flicks of his tongue, with long strokes of his lips.   
  
Power, just discovered, rocked through her like thunder. Voldemort sat back to catch his breath, but she moved with him, unrelenting as she kissed down along his jaw line. A sharp unbidden sound caught in his throat. Spurred on by it, Wraith curled her hand around the back of his neck. Her lips and teeth found his ear and the shiver that coursed through him surprised Voldemort enough that he pushed her back, his hand wrapped around her throat to keep her back.   
  
He felt her pulse racing beneath his fingers and was almost shocked to realize that his own pulse was nowhere near steady. Wraith struggled to catch her breath, not moving to free herself of his grasp. But seeing the astonishment in his eyes made her grin, the satisfaction a quicksilver gleam in her eyes.   
  
"Scared?" she taunted breathlessly.   
  
Voldemort leaned forward, his mouth hovering over hers. "Careful, pet," he murmured darkly. "Go too far and there'll be no turning back."   
  
"Am I yours or not?" she demanded, running her hands over his shoulders again, on the edge of gasping laughter. She kissed him, softly, briefly, and brushed her cheek against his.   
  
Giving in, Voldemort traced her neck with his teeth, bringing sounds of pure pleasure from deep within her throat. One hand rested at the small of her back, keeping her close, but the other drifting down her side, barely touching at all. She felt the light touch of his fingertips along the side of her breast and her breath caught. But his hand continued down until he rested it upon her thigh. With it already pushed up so that she could sit astride him on the chair, his hand slipped under the hem of her nightgown, his fingertips trailing along the pale skin of her leg. When she offered no resistance, his other hand followed suit, until both rested against the bare smooth skin of her back beneath the cloth.   
  
Voldemort's mouth trailed along her collarbone, as his fingertips scoured the lightest of marks upon her back. Wraith tipped her head back, inviting him to take more as the softest of moans escaped her. The moan cut through the fog impeding the Dark Lord's thought. His hands slid back down until they fisted on the hem of her nightgown. "Off," he whispered harshly, tugging at the fabric.   
  
Wraith barely hesitated. She too lowered her hands to the edge of her gown, brushing against his hands and moving them aside. For a moment, her eyes met his and time froze. Their eyes still locked, she slowly raised the hem of her nightgown, revealing the pale smooth skin of her stomach.   
  
Voldemort's eyes snapped down to watch, but then he forcefully closed his eyes and grabbed her by the wrists.   
  
"My Lord?"   
  
"Someone's coming," he growled.   
  
Wraith groaned and pulled her hands free of his. She too heard the heavy footsteps on the stairs. The nightgown fell back down, but her hands curled around his neck again and her lips traced his ear. "The door is locked," she reminded him, her tone desperate, "We can ignore them."   
  
Voldemort cursed under his breath and attacked the soft cool skin of her throat, biting along her pulse and making it jump.   
  
Someone pounded upon the door frantically. Impatient, Voldemort's hands drifted up Wraith's back and he lowered his mouth to the hollow of her throat. "Oh," the sound was pulled from her as his hands drifted over her skin.   
  
The pounding continued and several voices joined it. "Wraith!? My Lady Wraith? My Lord? Are you there?"   
  
Another frustrated groan escaped her and she snapped. " _What_!?"   
  
The pounding stopped. "My Lady, please, is the Dark Lord with you?"   
  
"Our Lord is otherwise occupied at the moment," Wraith told them dryly, struggling not to moan as Voldemort pulled the shoulders of her nightgown down to reveal more flesh. But the panic in the intruder's voice made her pause. She cursed and firmly pushed at the Dark Lord's shoulders, holding him away from her. "What's wrong?" she demanded sharply.   
  
Catching the seriousness of the question, Voldemort did not reach for her again. Instead, he looked towards the door.   
  
"My Lady…the prisoners below have escaped."   
  
Wraith's eyes snapped back to Voldemort's and she quickly scrambled off of his lap, grabbing for the robe she'd left on the floor.   
  
Voldemort took several deep breaths before he stood and stalked to the door, throwing it open to reveal a cowering Rowle and Wormtail standing at the threshold. Wormtail's eyes darted between the Dark Lord to where Wraith stood, still pulling her robe over the thin fabric of her nightgown. Understanding and something akin to astonishment flickered through the Death Eater's eyes, but he pushed it to the back of his mind.   
  
"My Lord, I––"   
  
"What. Happened."   
  
"W-we don't know, my Lord," Rowle stuttered, bowing low and keeping his eyes on the floor.   
  
Wraith came to stand at her Lord's side and she touched a gentle hand to his arm, her eyes on the Death Eaters. "Let's find out then, shall we?"


	65. Unforeseen I

_"The consequences of our actions are so complicated, so diverse, that predicting the future is a very difficult business indeed."_  
  
  
  
  
The Dark Lord led the way down to the dungeons, with Rowle and Wormtail following meekly behind.   
  
Wraith, before they'd left her tower, had dared a touch of magic to transmute her nightgown and robe to a plain black dress. She'd seen the gleam of understanding and shock in Wormtail's eyes and she had no desire to face the stares of the other Death Eaters by meeting them dressed for bed. She was desperately trying to ignore the strange sense of relief she felt. She didn't want to look too closely at the reason for it.   
  
Down in the dungeons, several Death Eaters awaited them. Wraith saw Snape among them, along with Vaisey and Harper. Every single one of them looked terrified.   
  
Voldemort paced along the dungeon, looking into each and every empty cell therein. With each he passed, the fury in his inhuman eyes grew. Even the Wandmaker and the Lovegood girl were gone. Finally, he turned to face his followers.   
  
"How was it done?" he demanded of them. "Someone tell me how it was done! How did they escape?"   
  
Wraith stepped forward quickly, putting a hand to the bars of one of the cells. After a moment, she blinked. "They  _Disapparated_ ," she said incredulously.   
  
"Impossible," Rowle argued. "You cannot Apparate or Disapparate within the walls of the Manor!" He looked to the Dark Lord in panic. "My Lord, I  _swear_ ––"   
  
"Silence," Voldemort commanded sharply. "I want no excuses."   
  
"Wait," Wraith said quickly, moving to stand between her Lord and the Death Eaters. "Rowle, you say it's  _impossible_  to Apparate here?"   
  
"Yes," he said stubbornly.   
  
Wraith looked to Voldemort. "House-elves," she said softly.   
  
"What?"   
  
"The house-elves––I've seen them Disapparate within the Manor."   
  
"Their magic  _is_  different from ours, my Lord," Snape said slowly. "They are also able to Apparate within Hogwarts when others can't."   
  
Voldemort looked between them, silently considering their words. Finally, he snapped at Wormtail, "Bring the Manor's house-elves  _now_."   
  
Wormtail scrambled up the stairs to comply. A terse silence followed his departure. No one dared to speak, a few were afraid to breathe in the wake of the Dark Lord's terrible anger. Wraith glanced over the frightened faces and wondered if she shouldn't have been a little afraid herself.   
  
As Wormtail came back down to the dungeon, Snape casually stepped away from the other Death Eaters to stand beside Wraith. She glanced at him, but did nothing else to acknowledge his presence.   
  
Every eye turned to Wormtail and Wraith felt her spine stiffen––The man was followed by only  _one_  house-elf.   
  
Dax kept his eyes on the ground and bowed deeply to the Dark Lord. Voldemort looked to Wormtail, who cringed.   
  
"Where are the rest?"   
  
"G-gone, my Lord," Wormtail said, quivering.   
  
Voldemort's jaw tightened and the air around him seemed to burn. Wraith forced herself not to step away from him. Instead, she reached a hand out towards him. "My Lord, maybe––" But it was too late. A blinding flash of bright green light flashed through the dungeon. Dax fell to the ground and did not rise again. Wraith allowed nothing to show on her face, but inside she felt sick.   
  
" _Find them_!" Voldemort commanded his Death Eaters, his voice ringing over them. " _Bring McGonagall back and kill the others on sight! **GO**_!"   
  
The Death Eaters moved so swiftly that it was almost as if they'd Disapparated. Only Wraith and Snape remained behind with the Dark Lord. Snape glanced at Wraith before he stepped forward. "My Lord, shall I return to Hogwarts––Search through Hogsmeade perhaps?"   
  
"Yes," Voldemort snapped, "Report to me in the morning."   
  
Snape bowed deeply. "My Lord." He swept out of the dungeon without another word.   
  
Voldemort breathed deeply and stepped around the fallen elf.   
  
"My Lord?"   
  
He paused and glanced back at his Wraith.   
  
"My Lord, should I join the search?"   
  
Voldemort considered her and then shook his head. "You're too weak."   
  
Wraith bristled at the word, but knew it was true. Voldemort left the dungeon…but Wraith hesitated a moment more.   
  
Kneeling beside his fallen form, she reached out to close Dax's eyes.   
  
  
  
  
Wraith stepped into the Dark Lord's tower and quietly closed the door behind her. Voldemort was pacing in front of his fireplace, his face still twisted with rage. He did not look at her as she crossed the room to him. Silently, Wraith stood beside the desk, her eyes following the Dark Lord's every movement.   
  
Finally, Voldemort snapped at her, " _What_?"   
  
Wraith's face was a mask, giving him nothing. "…You didn't have to kill the elf," she said softly.   
  
Voldemort scowled, turning to her. "You've a soft heart, my Wraith," he hissed. "It has no place here."   
  
Wraith's eyes went cold. "It is  _not_  my 'soft heart' that speaks,  _my Lord_ ," she retorted icily. "What if he had known something that could have helped us? The other two are gone; you can't question them. You don't even know  _why_  they helped the prisoners escape!"   
  
"Enough," Voldemort told her sharply.   
  
"No," Wraith said, baiting his temper further. "My Lord, what if it wasn't the house-elves alone?"   
  
 _That_  made the Dark Lord pause.   
  
"What are you implying,  _pet_?" he demanded.   
  
"You've had them locked in the dungeon for  _months_. If the house-elves were secretly loyal to the Order, then why did they remain here this long? What if someone recruited them into helping the prisoners?"   
  
"There are very few of my followers that I cannot read easily," Voldemort reminded her. "Not one of them has the power to keep such a secret from me."   
  
"But you are not omniscient, my Lord," Wraith pointed out. "All they would have to do is stay beneath your notice. And we have all those baby Death Eaters you've brought in."   
  
Silence rang between them. A low growl escaped Voldemort's mouth as he gritted his teeth in frustration. The girl could be right. "I'll rake through their minds like claws," he murmured darkly. "If one of them is a traitor,  _I will find them out_."   
  
Wraith said nothing. Very slowly, she went around the desk and pulled herself up to sit on its edge. "Forgive me if I spoke out of turn," she said. Her words still held a bitter edge and Voldemort scowled to hear it.   
  
He moved to her, placing his hands to either side of her on the desk. Temper flashed between them, but they both felt a shiver across their skin, recalling the moments before they'd been interrupted earlier. Everything seemed to stand in their way. Voldemort considered her and saw the question in her eyes. He touched a hand to her cheek, holding himself back.   
  
"The mood I'm in, pet, I  _will_  hurt you and I won't care."   
  
"Then hurt me," she challenged, knocking his hand aside. Her broken eyes flashed with frustration, matching his.   
  
He grabbed her roughly and pulled her close. He got a fistful of her hair, gave it a quick tug. And had his mouth crushed to hers. Not patiently, not warmly, but with the stark heat of raw temper. She struggled; a thread of fear snaked through her anger, and began to tighten just before he let her go.   
  
The Dark Lord all but shoved her away, quickly turning his back to her. Wraith raised a shaking hand to lips that felt bruised.   
  
"I've lost my taste for such games tonight," Voldemort told her, striding around the desk to sit by the fire. "Go to bed, my Wraith."   
  
She hesitated. The fear still lay coiled in her belly, but her frustration seemed to match it. She slipped off of the desk and crossed to the door, not daring to look back at him.


	66. Unforeseen II

_"Men occasionally stumble over the truth, but most of them pick themselves up and hurry off as if nothing had happened."_  
  
  
  
  
A dark mood settled over the Manor the following morning. Both Rowle and Wormtail lived in fear that any moment the Dark Lord would punish them for the prisoners' escape. Many of the Death Eaters were still on the hunt for McGonagall, but it was becoming clear that the entire group had gone to ground. Only a handful of the Death Eaters had dared to return to the Manor to rest, but they maintained a low profile within. The Dark Lord had locked himself within his tower to fume, and his Wraith had apparently done the same.   
  
Within her tower, Wraith paced the length of the room. Her eyes were shadowed and tired; she had slept only a little and very badly. Flashes of the night before continually interrupted her thoughts and left her feeling hot and cold at different turns. She did not know whether she felt relieved or disappointed that the Dark Lord had not called for her.  
  
Midmorning, she began to feel as if the walls were closing in on her. Frustrated and out-of-sorts, she left the confines of her tower, thinking to lose herself in the woods around the Manor until she felt more settled.   
  
She went down to the side door that opened onto the Maze, but as soon as she stepped outside she saw Harper sitting on the ground against the wall. His face was pale and his eyes stared intently at nothing.  
  
 _He looks lost_ , Wraith thought as she paused to study him. "Harper?" she called softly.   
  
He blinked slowly and turned his head slightly to see her. There were heavy shadows under his eyes as he attempted a smile. "Rough night, huh?"   
  
"You've a gift for understatement," Wraith told him dryly. She moved no closer to him, a part of her not wanting to know what it was that weighed so heavy on his heart. Her own heart felt burdened enough. But nor could she walk away. "What's on your mind, Harper?" she asked at last.   
  
He lowered his eyes, uncomfortable. "It's not important," he mumbled dismissively.   
  
 _Little liar_ , Wraith accused silently. Her curiosity mixed with her fondness for him kept her from just walking away. She took a step closer to him and knelt. "Vassal," she called him, making him lift his eyes back to hers. "Speak." It was a command.    
  
Harper was silent, but Wraith had the feeling he was thinking of how to answer rather than refusing to. "I was ecstatic early last night," he told her. " _Finally_  I was going to prove myself to the Dark Lord. I'd prove my worth, my loyalty to him. The raid on the safe-house––I thought I'd have my shining moment."   
  
Wraith remained quiet. She had almost forgotten about the raid in the wake of everything that had followed it.   
  
"When we got there––It was a massacre," he blurted out, "Complete and total carnage. I…" His voice trailed off, but Wraith had no words to help him. Harper cleared his throat and looked away. "I followed orders, did exactly as I was told, but… I mean…they're Mudbloods, traitors...so, I didn't think I'd…that I'd…"   
  
"You didn't expect to feel pity for them," Wraith said softly.   
  
"No," Harper said, hanging his head.   
  
Wraith smiled bitterly. "I sometimes have the same problem," she confessed.   
  
Harper looked up, surprised and not entirely trusting her. "How do you deal with it?" he asked.   
  
 _I don't really_. "…I remember that I'm following the Dark Lord's orders; that what I do serves his will. My actions have a purpose. …That helps."  
  
Harper nodded slowly. "Yeah," he said softly. "There's that." He attempted a smile and this one stuck. "Thank you, milady," he told her, a touch of his impishness returning.   
  
Wraith found that she couldn't return the smile. She stood, turning away from him. "There's nothing to thank me for," she whispered. She walked away before he could say anything else to hold her there.    
  
  
  
  
Wraith wandered the forest paths, going deep enough that the pale sunlight was completely obscured by the trees. She walked in the shadows, moving quietly as the ghost she was named. She didn't know how far the forest extended and she couldn't bring herself to care. Wraith still felt the echo of pain in the hollow of her bones, but resolutely ignored it. She was pushing herself too far and knew she'd pay for it later, but she didn't want to return to the Manor.   
  
The forest was as quiet as she, but the farther she went the more birds she began to hear in the trees above her. She began to walk more slowly, enjoying the peaceful air around her.   
  
 _I must be far from the Manor_ , she realized, stopping to look back over her shoulder. The odd burdening feeling that was so constant there had left her.  _Perhaps I'm no longer on the grounds that Slytherin claimed._  
  
She turned back, looking forward.  _I wonder how far I could go_ , she thought. A terrible longing filled her, pulled her forward.  _What would happen if I never went back?_    
  
Wraith stopped again and shook her head at her foolishness. There was no place that the Dark Lord could not find her––and there was no place she could go that she wouldn't be drawn right back to him in any case. She was so tightly bound to him…   
  
A flash of temper surprised her and she realized that for the first time, she felt chained, caged by her connection to Voldemort. Wraith bit down on her sudden fury and forced it from her mind. She started to turn back, but still she did not want to return to the Manor. Sighing, she simply sat on the edge of the path, leaning against the rough bark of a tree.   
  
Sitting there in the near silence of the forest, her thoughts finally worked back to what she had been so desperate to ignore the night before. She weighed and measured her own feelings, trying to work them out inside her head. She felt the compulsion to speak them aloud.   
  
"…I'm glad they're gone," she whispered to herself, as if convincing herself of it. "I'm glad the prisoners are gone. I don't care how, just that they're not here anymore. I hated the thought of them locked down below. I hated thinking of McGonagall suffering still because of my healing. Now I don't have to."   
  
Wraith blinked, appalled at her own thoughts. She suddenly felt sickened by the words that had spilled from her mouth. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back to look up at the patches of sky she could see through the bare branches of the trees.   
  
 _Crack._    
  
Wraith's head whipped around at the sound of a branch snapping. She froze. Her power was so very depleted…would she be able to defend herself without causing more damage?   
  
But after a moment, she found herself staring into the soft brown eyes of a young doe. Like Wraith, the deer froze, but after a moment, she decided that Wraith wasn't a threat. The doe ambled forward cautiously, picking through the fallen leaves to reach the grass beneath. Wraith followed the doe with her eyes alone, enchanted by it.   
  
Both the girl and doe remained there together for several long minutes of peace. Wraith slowly smiled and dared to lift a hand towards the doe. "It's alright," she whispered, barely able to hear herself. "I won't hurt you."   
  
The doe considered her and had actually taken a step closer when Wraith suddenly hissed in pain. The doe turned and ran, disappearing through the trees, and Wraith pulled her arm close to her chest.   
  
The Dark Mark upon her forearm burned. It was almost as though Voldemort's temper burned through it along with his orders for her return to the Manor.   
  
Disappointed, her peace shattered, Wraith stood and brushed off her skirts. She glanced through the trees, but the doe was already long gone. Wraith sighed again and took the path back towards the Manor.    
  
  
  
  
Wraith wasn't sure just how long she'd been gone, but judging by the sun she supposed that it was late afternoon when she reached the Manor again. On the walk back, she'd felt the Mark burn again, a sign of the Dark Lord's impatience. Wraith told herself that she wasn't ignoring it, that it was impractical to Apparate back to the grounds when she was so weak. But in the back of her mind, she felt a bitter sense of success in making him wait for her.   
  
Wraith went straight up to Voldemort's tower and found the door unlocked. Stepping inside, she saw the Dark Lord pacing in front of the fireplace. His eyes flashed in her direction and Wraith was suddenly terrified.   
  
"Where have you been?" he demanded, his voice low.   
  
"Walking, my Lord," she replied softly. "I…wanted to get away for a little while. I'm sorry."   
  
He seemed slightly appeased by her swift apology and gestured for her to come closer. Wraith reached the desk and stopped, wary to be any closer to him.   
  
"Have they found anything?" she asked, speaking of the Death Eaters.   
  
"Nothing," Voldemort told her, his temper flaring again, but this was not directed at her. "But we have new information gleaned from the raid last night. They can't hide forever."   
  
"'When your quarry goes to ground, leave no ground to go to,'" Wraith quoted, idling running her hand over the surface of the desk.   
  
Voldemort smiled just slightly, "Precisely." He continued to pace and Wraith kept quiet, having no thoughts to add. "You were correct," Voldemort said after a moment. Wraith looked at him, surprised. "It was foolish to dispose of the elf so quickly. I want your help, my Wraith, in discovering whether or not I have been betrayed by one of the newest of my followers."   
  
"Yes, my Lord," Wraith said. "How can I help?"   
  
"I've ordered them here," Voldemort told her. "Tonight, I wish you to simply make your presence known. They fear you, as they should, but seeing you may make my betrayer nervous. He will slip up and I will be able to find him among the rest."   
  
Wraith tilted her head to one side. "Should I wear white?"   
  
"Perhaps a touch of it," Voldemort said, "Simply to play upon their fears." He stopped pacing long enough to really look at her. "You are still weakened," he said, his tone putting a hard edge of his words. "Go and rest until nightfall. I need you to at least be able to put on the illusion of strength tonight."


	67. Unforeseen III

_All the world's a stage,  
And all the men and women merely players.  
They have their exits and their entrances;   
And one man in his time plays many parts... _  
  
  
  
  
Wraith woke in the shadows and for an instant she didn't remember where she was. Half remembering the dream still circling 'round in her head, she slowly sat up and looked around. The sun had set not too long ago and her tower room was dark. Carefully, she slipped out of bed and lit a single candle.   
  
Wraith tried to ignore her feeling of unsettlement as she dressed for the evening.  _A touch of white_ , she reminded herself. She chose a black dress with sweeping sleeves and over it went a dark green bodice with embroidered white roses. She left her hair loose and almost as an afterthought, she slipped on the circle of dark stones the Dark Lord had given her. It was the first she'd worn it since Voldemort had brought Gavin to the Manor. A line of kohl around her eyes emphasized their size and she added a touch of green above them. She felt almost as though she were slipping on a mask.   
  
 _Not quite the Lady Death_ , she thought as she gazed into her reflection,  _but enough to make them nervous_. Satisfied her appearance would please her Lord; Wraith left her tower to seek him out.   
  
Lord Voldemort anticipated her arrival and was waiting for her at the bottom of his tower. He looked her over once and nodded shortly in approval. Wraith hurried her step and walked alongside him until they reached the staircase that descended into the entrance hall, and there she slowed to walk a step behind him like a shadow.   
  
The drawing room was empty when they stepped inside and Wraith felt as though her Lord was setting the stage to better draw out the would-be traitor. As it had been the night of the initiation, the room was completely dark save for the fire in the hearth. Two chairs were positioned in front of it and Voldemort settled into the grander of the two.   
  
As Wraith moved towards the second chair, Voldemort studied her gown more closely. "Roses?" he murmured in question, reaching out to run a finger along the pattern.   
  
"I copied the design from one of Narcissa's gowns," Wraith explained as she sat. Sitting in the near dark, Wraith recalled something she had wanted to ask him. "My Lord?"   
  
"Yes, pet."   
  
She hesitated a little. "It's just…last night…before you returned from the raid…I had collapsed after you'd drawn power. Snape was watching over me still and…well, when I woke he told me that I had been talking in my sleep." Was it her imagination or had the Dark Lord stiffened just slightly? "He…he said that I had been calling for my mother," she finished softly. "I didn't really believe him…seeing as I've never had a mother. But––"   
  
"But what?" Voldemort prompted impatiently.   
  
"I suspect that it was just a dream I had––but I can see a face in my mind of a young woman…she was pretty with long pale hair and…I just wondered if she was real or not…?"   
  
The question trailed off into silence.   
  
"There was a woman," Voldemort said shortly. "Her name was Christine. She stole you when you were a baby. I think she intended to raise you as her own. She had…recently lost her own child. You were recovered from her, but only after a long search. It is likely her face you recall."   
  
"Oh," Wraith sat back, frowning slightly. "But…my Lord, how did she know about me? How did she get that close?"   
  
"…She was Gavin's wife."   
  
Wraith paled slightly in the firelight, saying nothing more. More questions burned at the tip of her tongue––There was more to it than the Dark Lord claimed––she could  _feel_  it.  
  
Voldemort looked to her and reached to touch her face. "Put it from your mind, pet," he told her firmly. "It is ancient history."   
  
Wraith glanced over at the open door and then back to her Lord. Voldemort ran his hand down the line of her neck, touching the necklace at the hollow of her throat. An unbidden shiver coursed under Wraith's skin, but she did not move away.   
  
Voldemort too glanced towards the door before he whispered to her, "Come closer a moment, pet."   
  
Wraith leaned over and tilted her head so that Voldemort could press his lips to hers. Wraith sighed and leaned into the kiss, her lips parting beneath his. But before it could become more, she stiffened at the sound of a telltale footstep in the hall. Voldemort cast a scowl towards the door as he pulled away from her. Glancing at her again though, he smiled just slightly. Wraith smiled back, the sharp-edged little smirk that so matched his.   
  
That shared smile was the first thing that Harper and Vaisey saw as they walked into the room. Wraith looked to them, and gave Harper a small reassuring nod. He was hiding his fear well, but Wraith read it in his eyes. Vaisey's expression was carefully neutral as their eyes met briefly and he quickly dropped his gaze to the floor. As the two sat down, several others entered the room and did the same.   
  
Rowle was the last to enter and he closed the door sharply behind him. The jarring sound made several of the Death Eaters start. Wraith didn't bother to hide her amusement. She flashed a quick smile at Rowle, who nodded in response. The large man settled into a chair near the door as if he were guarding the exit.   
  
Voldemort gazed over each face within the room and the silence fell heavy and foreboding. "McGonagall has vanished," the Dark Lord said slowly, "As have the rest of the prisoners we had below. It has become clear that she will not be found again anytime soon. The search for her is too important to leave in the hands of…new recruits." Wraith wondered if the Dark Lord had considered using her nickname for them. "So I will be assigning you all elsewhere." His tone suggested that he wanted to be well rid of them.   
  
Wraith saw several faces flush with the intended insult. She met Harper's eyes and saw the light of disappointment in his face. He slouched in his chair sullenly for a moment until he saw she was watching him. Wraith tilted her head to one side, giving him an arched look. He blushed slightly and straightened again.   
  
Wraith listened in amused silence as the Dark Lord assigned the newest Death Eaters to different posts, from Diagon Alley and several other locations in London, to Hogsmeade and the surrounding countryside. As they were each assigned, they would stand and exit the room. Wraith noted that the Dark Lord was taking them in order that they had first pledged.   
  
It was completely uneventful until only three of them remained; Harper, Vaisey, and a man that Wraith had not really spoken with named Quincy. Wraith was on edge now, for the Dark Lord had eliminated each Death Eater as a possible traitor as they'd received their orders––If there  _was_  a traitor as she suspected…then it had to be one of these three.   
  
"Quincy," Voldemort said, gesturing to the man. "You will join Yaxley at the Ministry––he will give you further orders there."   
  
The man stood and bowed low to the Dark Lord. Wraith looked quickly to Voldemort, but the Dark Lord shook his head just slightly. It wasn't Quincy.   
  
Wraith felt the bottom drop out of her stomach, but did not let her anxiety show on her face. It was very possible she was wrong…maybe they hadn't been betrayed after all. She looked back to Harper and Vaisey, keeping her face carefully blank. Both boys looked excited now, looking forward to going somewhere new. Voldemort glanced at them and then stood, walking around the chair to stand before the fire. "As far as you two," the Dark Lord told them, "I want you both at Hogsmeade as well. You have only recently left Hogwarts––You should know the village well enough."   
  
"Yes, my Lord," Harper said eagerly.   
  
He and Vaisey stood to bow, and Wraith got to her feet as well, thinking it over. Voldemort turned to face the fire, silently dismissing them.   
  
Harper edged closer to Wraith a moment and took her hand in his. He bowed over it and mimed kissing it, making her smile. "My Lady," Harper said with a crooked grin. "It has been a pleasure. I hope it isn't too long before I am graced with your presence once more."   
  
Wraith rolled her eyes, but she still smiled slightly. Harper straightened and took one step towards the door.   
  
Voldemort turned on his heel with a hiss and then door suddenly slammed shut.   
  
Wraith met Harper's eyes in hurt astonishment–– _Not Harper, please_ ––But before her shock could truly register, Vaisey grabbed his friend around the neck and pulled him back.   
  
"Don't move!" Vaisey barked the order at Voldemort and Wraith. He held a strange metal object in his hand that Wraith did not recognize, with the barrel held at the side of Harper's head.   
  
"Vaisey, what the  _bloody Hell_?" Harper demanded, his voice an octave higher than usual.   
  
"Drop your wand, Tony," Vaisey told his friend. "Drop it now."   
  
Harper did as he was told, for Wraith heard the clatter of a wand falling to the floor.   
  
Wraith darted forward, but Vaisey quickly turned the strange object towards her, making her pause.   
  
"Do you know what this is?" Vaisey asked, his voice low.   
  
"No," Wraith replied honestly.   
  
"This is a Muggle weapon. It's called a gun," Vaisey told her with a humorless smile. "They come in all sort of different flavors. This one is a revolver. My uncle gave it me a year ago––He even taught me how to shoot it."   
  
Wraith remained still. She didn't know what the 'gun' could do, but it set her on edge in any case. She held up her hands and took one step back. "Vaisey, don't do this," she urged softly.   
  
"You know you won't leave here alive, Ethan Vaisey," Voldemort told him, coming around the chairs to stand beside Wraith.   
  
Vaisey pulled the trigger once and a loud  _bang_  deafened them a moment. Voldemort swiftly ducked to one side before the bullet could hit him. Wraith watched in bewilderment as the back of the Dark Lord's chair exploded into splinters.  _So that's what a gun does_ , she thought numbly.   
  
"Actually, I think I am," Vaisey retorted sharply.   
  
"Ethan," Harper said, his voice strained. "Ethan, mate, come on––"   
  
"I'm sorry I dragged you into this, Tony," Vaisey told his friend as he slowly began to move backwards towards the windows. "I didn't want you to get hurt––but this is something I have to do."   
  
"You recruited the house-elves," Wraith said quickly, turning his attention back to her.   
  
Once again, Vaisey turned the gun on her. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I did. It wasn't hard. They wanted to help. They were all Hogwarts elves, did you know? They wanted to save McGonagall's life."   
  
Wraith started forward, but Vaisey shook his head. "Not a step closer, Lady Death," he hissed at her.   
  
Wraith stared down the barrel of the gun. A moment of terse silence passed as their eyes met and locked.   
  
"I'd be doing the world a favor if I put a bullet between those pretty eyes of yours," Vaisey told her softly.   
  
Wraith smirked and cocked her head. "Can't argue," she replied dryly. She reached out a hand, but did not move any closer. "Let Harper go," she pleaded gently. "He's your friend; you don't want to hurt him."      
  
"No, I don't," Vaisey agreed, "So don't make me."   
  
"Nobody is  _making_  you do anything," Wraith snapped, temper flaring dangerously. "This is all you, Vaisey. Your choice."   
  
On the last word, Harper drove his elbow into Vaisey's stomach, breaking free. Wraith surged forward, faster than Vaisey's eyes could follow. He pulled the trigger three times in rapid fire.   
  
Wraith screamed at the sudden deep and burning pain in her arm and felt her knees give out.   
  
The Dark Lord moved forward, his wand on Vaisey, but the boy had already shattered one of the windows and leapt out through the broken glass. Voldemort grabbed Harper roughly and pressed a finger to the Dark Mark on the boy's arm. His orders lashed through the Mark–– _Follow the boy! Kill him!_ ––along with an image of Vaisey. Harper collapsed to the floor as Voldemort released him, weak with shock and pain.   
  
Thunderous footsteps echoed through the Manor as the Death Eaters within ran outside to catch Vaisey before he could reach the edge of the grounds and Disapparate.   
  
Voldemort turned away from the shattered window to kneel beside his Wraith. She was clutching her left arm just below her shoulder, blood running through her fingers.   
  
"It's broken," Wraith told him tightly.   
  
"Let me see it," Voldemort ordered her, moving her hand away from the wound.   
  
Wraith hissed in pain and fought not to pull away. The bullet had hit the bone, cracking it. Voldemort watched in grim fascination as the wound slowly began to close.   
  
"I don't think I like guns," Wraith said shakily, trembling as shock set in. Voldemort smirked and touched a hand to her arm. A high cry of pain escaped her and Voldemort jerked his hand back quickly. "B-bones t-t-take longer t-to heal," Wraith said weakly through chattering teeth. "H-Harper?"   
  
Voldemort glanced over his shoulder to see the boy slowly sitting up. "He'll recover," the Dark Lord said shortly. "Can you stand?"   
  
Wraith considered it and then slowly nodded. Voldemort put a hand under her other arm and pulled her up. Wraith clutched her broken arm and leaned against the Dark Lord's side as several Death Eaters entered the room.   
  
"Well?" Voldemort snapped at them.   
  
"He's gone, my Lord," Rowle said grimly. "Disapparated, but Dolohov managed to grab his arm and follow."   
  
"Not a complete loss then," Voldemort said coldly.   
  
Wraith turned slightly to see Harper slowly getting to his feet. The expression in his eyes sent a new jolt of pain through her. The boy fell back against the wall, one hand over his face.   
  
Voldemort turned as well and swiftly crossed to him, leaving his Wraith standing alone. Voldemort wrapped long fingers around Harper's throat, drawing him up and cutting off his air.   
  
"My Lord!" Wraith exclaimed, taking a faltering step towards them.   
  
Voldemort brought the boy's face close to his, his inhuman eyes boring into Harper's. But after a long moment, the Dark Lord released him. "He knew nothing," he spat bitterly. "He is free of guilt, if not stupidity."   
  
Harper fell back against the wall again, shaking.   
  
Wormtail stared at Wraith and the heavy amount of blood that stained her dress and hands. Wraith caught his eye and saw the question in them, but did not have the energy to answer it. Instead, still clutching her injured arm, she stepped past him and the other Death Eaters in silence.   
  
She had had enough.


	68. Comfort

_"A misery is not to be measured from the nature of the evil, but from the temper of the sufferer."_  
  
  
  
Wraith pulled open her tower door to the figure that had knocked so hesitantly. She hesitated only a moment before she threw herself into his arms, one arm clinging tightly while the other hung limply at her side.   
  
" _Ma petite_ ," Janesch murmured, gently folding his arms around her.   
  
"Thank you for coming, Jan," Wraith whispered. "Thank you."   
  
Janesch stiffened slightly and pulled back from her. His face was strained as he looked her over. "Little ghost, you smell of blood."   
  
Wraith quickly stepped away. "I'm sorry, Janesch," she said. She had changed her dress and had thought she'd gotten rid of most of the blood.   
  
The vampire cleared his throat and studied her more closely. He especially noted how she favored her left arm. "What happened,  _chéri_?"   
  
"Well…I was shot."   
  
" _Merde_!" Janesch exclaimed.   
  
Wraith held up a hand to silence him. "It's a long story," she told him. "I have a lot to tell you," she added hesitantly. She moved back to sit on the edge of her bed and Janesch slowly followed.   
  
"Oh,  _ma chéri_ ," he said softly, putting an arm around her shoulders and drawing her close. "Talk to me. What has happened tonight that has you so sad?"   
  
"It's not just tonight," Wraith told him. "It…it was almost two weeks ago…You remember that the Dark Lord had prisoners in the dungeon below? They were members of the Order of the Phoenix, captured during the battle at Diagon Alley?"   
  
"I recall, yes," Janesch said with a nod. "You did not like having them here," he remembered, "you did not like hearing them tortured."   
  
"No, I didn't," Wraith agreed. "It was McGonagall…She was on the edge of dying and the Dark Lord wanted to kill her…but Snape sent me down to stop him from doing it––We still needed her alive, needed information from her."   
  
"Were you able to stop him?"   
  
"Y-yes," Wraith said, "The Dark Lord decided not to kill her––He made me heal her instead."   
  
Janesch closed his eyes, trying to wrap his mind around it. "Heal her… _merde_ …"   
  
"He wanted a clean slate," Wraith continued. "I healed her so that he could begin the torture anew."   
  
The deadened quality to her voice alarmed Janesch. He held her a little tighter and kissed the top of her head. "Oh,  _ma chéri_ , it must have killed you."   
  
Wraith was silent for a moment. "It gets worse," she said at last.   
  
"How much worse?" Janesch asked.   
  
"They escaped, Janesch," she told him. "All of the prisoners below––they're gone."   
  
"When did this happen?"   
  
"Last night," she said. She shivered and pushed away from him, pressing a hand to her heart. "Rowle and Wormtail came up here to find the Dark Lord––He was here with me––They, um,  _interrupted_  us."   
  
Janesch's eyes widened and a touch of amusement came to them. "Oh," he said slowly. "… _Oh_."   
  
"Don't use that tone," Wraith said irritably, standing and crossing to the window.   
  
"Hm…how close were you? If you don't mind me asking?"   
  
"Close," Wraith replied, "very close."   
  
Janesch saw another shiver pass over her and licked his lips, looking at her curiously. "Mmm, well now," he said, standing as well. "Were you afraid,  _ma petite_?"   
  
"Only a little," she confessed, not looking at him. She felt a touch of satisfaction, recalling the night. "I think I surprised him a little," she said softly, glancing absentmindedly at the fireplace.   
  
"You were enjoying yourself," Janesch accused playfully, coming to stand beside her. He wanted to distract her from the darker thoughts. "Tell me more,  _ma chéri_ , I beg, I plead."   
  
Wraith gave him a wry look. "Why so curious?" she demanded to know, blushing slightly.   
  
Janesch shrugged and smiled unabashedly. "It's been a while for me," he confessed without a trace of shame, "I'm living vicariously through you." He raised an eyebrow at her. "Look at you, little ghost, all shivery and weak at the knees."   
  
"Oh, shut it," Wraith said, her blush deepening. "Anyway, the fates seem to be conspiring against us in any case. Every time we get…close, something happens and we get interrupted like last night." She blinked and then gave Janesch a rather dirty look. "You're distracting me," she accused.   
  
Janesch's smile went soft and he touched a hand to her hair. "Sorry, love," he told her, wishing she hadn't noticed, "Go on then, what happened last night?"   
  
"A couple of the Manor's house-elves helped the prisoners escape," Wraith said.   
  
"House-elves?" Janesch repeated incredulously. "You're serious?"   
  
Wraith nodded. "And tonight we discovered that one of our baby Death Eaters was behind it."   
  
"Who was it?" Janesch asked slowly, remembering how one of the new recruits had been so taken with Wraith.   
  
"It was Vaisey," Wraith said sadly, "Harper's friend."   
  
"Is he the one who shot you?"   
  
"Yes," she replied, touching a hand to her still tender arm. "I'd never seen a gun before," she said. "I think I could have lived without the experience, to be honest. He took Harper hostage, but Harper got away. Vaisey shot at me and then escaped out a window. They're still looking for him. The bullet hit my arm here," she said, rubbing her upper arm. "It hit the bone and broke it. Otherwise I might have gone after him myself," she added darkly.   
  
"How is Harper?" Janesch asked gently.   
  
Wraith winced and turned her head away. "Not good," she said. "I think his world has collapsed around him. He and Vaisey have been friends for years…He didn't know anything about what Vaisey had planned." She sighed and stepped away from the window. "Let's go for a walk," she suggested.   
  
"As you wish," Janesch said, moving with her to the door. At the threshold he paused. "One last thing," he said, grinning ear to ear, "… _How_ close?"   
  
Wraith blushed again and rolled her eyes to the ceiling, "…Sitting in his lap and about to take my clothes off. Satisfied?"   
  
Janesch laughed delightedly and looped her arm through his. "Not hardly,  _ma petite_ , and I doubt that your Lord is either."   
  
  
  
  
Together they walked down to the entrance hall, but instead of going through the front doors, Wraith took the twisted path through the ground floor to the side door that opened onto the Maze. As she had hoped, Harper had once again sought refuge there.   
  
His muddy-brown hair was disheveled, as if he had spent hours running his hands through it, his eyes were bloodshot, and fresh tears were drying on his pale face. Wraith heard him sniff as he turned to look at them. Seeing her more than anything else,   
  
Harper scrambled to his feet, wiping at the wetness on his cheeks. "My Lady," he started to say, but Wraith held up a hand to silence him.   
  
"You remember Janesch?" she asked. Harper nodded. "We were going to take a walk," Wraith continued, "Come with us."   
  
Harper looked surprised, but again he nodded mutely.   
  
Wraith glanced at Janesch and then started across the grounds to the woods beyond, with the others a step behind her. As they walked no one spoke, but Wraith heard Harper stilted breath and knew without looking that he was trying very hard not to cry and failing miserably.   
  
But she waited until they had reached the shelter of the trees before she stopped and turned. Harper came to a stumbling halt, blinking in confusion. Janesch was perfectly silent, perfectly still. Wraith waited until Harper had lifted his eyes to hers.   
  
"I cannot comfort you," she told him simply. "I cannot be that close. I've no words to ease the pain I know you have to be feeling. I  _do_  know what it's like to be betrayed."   
  
In the gentleness of her voice, Harper read her want to comfort and her frustration at not being able, at not being allowed, and he struggled to keep himself together against the unexpected kindness. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound escaped. Wraith looked to Janesch, a touch of helplessness in her gaze, and the vampire understood what it was she wanted of him.   
  
Smiling just slightly, Janesch touched a hand to Harper's shoulder. The boy jerked, surprised, as if he had forgotten that Janesch was there. "Our Lady Wraith cannot touch nor comfort," Janesch told him gently, "I am bound by no such restrictions,  _mon ami_."   
  
Harper hesitated, wrapping his arms tightly over his chest.   
  
"Antony," Janesch said, holding out open arms, "Come. I've a perfectly good shoulder to cry on––Know there is no shame in being hurt."   
  
Harper's face crumbled and he muttered a curse under his breath. Giving in, he leaned into Janesch's arms, resting his head on the vampire's shoulder, shaking with the strength of his sobs. Janesch closed his arms around the boy, one arm laid gently over his shoulders, the other soothing his rumpled hair. " _Pauvre garçon_ ," Janesch murmured tenderly in French, " _pauvre garçon perdu_."   
  
Wraith closed her eyes and leaned back against a tree, rubbing a hand over her injured arm. It was almost strange to see the vampire comforting the boy––Janesch's body was the same age as Harper was now, and yet there was a quality to the way Janesch held and comforted him that betrayed the vampire's years.   
  
It only took a few minutes for Harper to get hold of himself again. As the boy stepped back, Janesch offered a handkerchief to him, no trace of humor or scorn in his face. Harper took a few moments more and then cleared his throat. "Er…thanks," he said gruffly.   
  
"I only stand in for our Lady," Janesch told him, looking to Wraith.   
  
Harper turned to Wraith too and he saw the way she held her arm. "He hurt you," Harper murmured. "I––I'm sorry."   
  
"It's not your fault," Wraith told him firmly. "Vaisey made his choices. Besides, I'm healing."   
  
"He––God, I thought he was my  _friend_ ," Harper spat the word out like a curse. "He used me to get as close as he did, you know that."   
  
"I figured it out," Wraith said, nodding. "It was his idea that you two join up, wasn't it?"   
  
Harper nodded, his mouth a bitter line.   
  
"Is our Lord still sending you to Hogsmeade?" Wraith asked him then.   
  
Harper shrugged, "I guess so. I hope so actually. Change of scenery might do me some good."   
  
"Ready to go back?"   
  
Harper breathed deep and then nodded. "Yeah," he said, actually smiling a little. "Thank you…my Lady."     
  
  
  
  
" _Ma petite_ ," Janesch murmured softly, "do you forgive me?"   
  
They had returned to her tower after leaving Harper in the drawing room downstairs, and were laid out upon her bed side by side.   
  
"Yes," Wraith replied after a moment of thought. "Yes, I think I do. Maybe someday I'll even be able to thank you for it."   
  
Janesch smirked. "Oh, I won't hold my breath for that," he said teasingly. He reached out to tug on a lock of her hair. "You should let me take you out again."   
  
"I'll think about it."


	69. Spiral Down

_Sometimes I lie awake at night, and I ask, "Where have I gone wrong?"  
Then a voice says to me, "This is going to take more than one night."_  
  
  
  
  
Wraith walked Janesch down to the doors a little while later. As they passed the drawing room, Harper poked his head out and waved goodbye to the vampire.   
  
"He reminds me of someone," Janesch told Wraith softly as they stood on the front steps.   
  
"Who?"   
  
"Myself," Janesch said sadly, though he smiled, "Myself as a mortal boy. I think I like our Harper,  _ma petite_."   
  
"Thank you for helping me with him," Wraith said. She lifted her head so that Janesch could place a kiss on her cheek.   
  
"Write me," he told her firmly.   
  
"Promise," she replied with a small smile.   
  
Janesch grinned and then started down the path. Wraith waited until he was out of sight before she stepped back inside, closing the door behind her. Her smile immediately disappeared and she turned her head towards the stairs.   
  
Voldemort stood at the top of the steps, his mouth twisted into a sneer. As Wraith looked up at him, he turned and started away. Without a word, Wraith followed.   
  
By the time she had reached his tower, he was already seated behind his desk, staring into the fire.   
  
" _Pet_."   
  
"Don't start," Wraith told him sharply, coming up to the desk.   
  
Voldemort's eyes burned. "I confess I'd hoped to see the last of that vampire."   
  
"A pity," Wraith retorted.   
  
"You had cast him out of your life not a month ago," Voldemort reminded her, "why bring him back now?"   
  
"Because I needed him," she said simply. "You are many things to me, my Lord; a friend is not one of them, nor a comfort."   
  
"I don't know how much longer I will tolerate his presence here," Voldemort told her.   
  
Wraith's temper lashed out and she moved around the edge of the desk. "Then I will do as I did before and go to him instead," she said, her voice carefully tame.   
  
"If you think you can get around me,  _pet_ ––"   
  
Wraith leaned forward, placing her hands on either arm rest and bringing her face very close to his. "And if you think that I don't realize that you only told me about his coming to you about Gavin to get me mad at him, then you don't know me as well as you claim," she hissed at him.   
  
Voldemort's eyes narrowed dangerously, but Wraith did not move away. Voldemort reached forward to grab the belt at her waist, pulling her forward. With her quite suddenly halfway in his lap, his mouth crushed down upon hers.   
  
Wraith made a surprised sound in the back of her throat, but quickly straightened herself out so that she straddled him as she had the night before, never taking her mouth away from his. Voldemort curled one hand into her hair and the other rested at the small of her back.   
  
Her temper still sizzling through her, she bit down hard on his lip, drawing blood. Voldemort jerked back, one hand coming to his mouth. Wraith smiled tightly, a satisfied gleam in her broken eyes.   
  
"Vicious little thing," Voldemort hissed.   
  
Wraith's smile widened and she leaned forward, gently kissing his lips as if in apology, her tongue darting out to lap at the blood. Voldemort's hands drifted up her back, searching for the lacings of her dress.   
  
With the taste of his blood on her tongue, she slipped off of his lap. Voldemort tried to grab her and make her stay, but he did not move quickly enough. "Wraith," he said, his voice slightly strained.   
  
Hearing it, Wraith flashed him a quicksilver grin.   
  
"Suffer," she taunted, turning on her heel away from him.  
  
A muscle beneath his eye began to tic as she disappeared through the door. But after a moment, he laughed softly, darkly.  
  
"Vicious," he murmured again, this time to himself, "vicious little thing."     
  
  
  
  
 _There was darkness all around her, but she was not afraid. Not yet. She held up her hands and saw that her skin glowed in the shadows, lined with the veins of power beneath it. "Little bird, little bird, thy wings doth shine bright." She lifted her eyes to the space before her to see who had spoken. She saw no one in the black. The voice was familiar, but she could place no name or face to it. Looking all around her, she felt the beginnings of fear. A sharp pain coursed through her and once more she looked to her hands. As she watched, the veins of light beneath her skin began to dim and darken to black. She screamed as the pain turned to fire in her blood. "I'd be doing the world a favor if I put a bullet between those pretty eyes of yours." That voice she knew. She brought her gaze up in time to see a flash in the dark overwhelm her._  
  
  
  
  
Wraith woke with a gasp. For a moment she felt suspended between the dream turned nightmare and reality. Moving slowly, she sat up, pressing a hand to her heart. Her pulse raced beneath her palm as she struggled to catch her breath. Frowning, she lifted her hands. Closing her eyes she could still picture the lines of light that had coursed under the skin and the way they had turned to black.   
  
 _I suppose I don't need to wonder what that dream was about_ , she thought rather cynically, also remembering Vaisey's soft and bitterly truthful words.   
  
But the first voice––the one that had sounded so familiar––she had no idea where that had come from.   
  
Wraith sighed deeply, placing her head in her hands for a few minutes as she fully slipped back into reality. She slipped out of bed and went to the East window, pulling open the curtains. There was only a hint of pale light at the horizon––Dawn had not yet come.   
  
Despite the early hour, Wraith knew she wouldn't be able to sleep again.   
  
Still gazing out the window, Wraith's brow furrowed slightly. The sky was thick with dark gray clouds and as she watched, soft white flakes of snow began to fall. Her frown vanished. Moving quickly, she dressed and threw her cloak over her shoulders.   
  
  
  
  
The pre-dawn air was cold and sharp when Wraith stepped outside. Smiling, she lifted her face to the still dark sky and felt the cold touch of snow upon her cheeks. It was strange to think that the weather that had been the worst to endure within Azkaban was a joy to her now in her freedom.   
  
Standing in the snow, Wraith realized what it meant for her.   
  
 _Another month_ , she thought incredulously,  _just one more month and I will have been free of Azkaban for a year._  It seemed impossible to comprehend.   
  
"My Lady?"   
  
Wraith turned in surprise to se Harper coming down the steps, a travel cloak bound tightly around him. "Harper," she said, brushing at the snow on her face. "You're up early."   
  
"I got the go-ahead from the Dark Lord to go to Hogsmeade last night," Harper explained, flushing slightly. "I wanted to head out early. I––didn't sleep all that good."   
  
 _Perhaps this is why I woke_ , Wraith thought.  _To say goodbye_. She smiled slightly and held out her hand to him. Harper took it gently in his own and bent to kiss it. His lips lingered a little longer than they should have, but Wraith could not bring herself to mind.   
  
Harper straightened and reluctantly released her hand. "…Thank you––again," he told her, smiling.   
  
"Take care of yourself, Harper," Wraith said.  _I will miss him_ , she realized sadly. "Do try to stay out of trouble."   
  
"I can promise that I'll try," Harper replied with a twisted grin. "Can you do the same?"   
  
Wraith's smile faltered only slightly. "I make no promises," she told him.   
  
Harper laughed. If he had heard the note of melancholy in her voice, he gave no sign. He bowed to her again, sweeping an arm back. "Until we meet again," he said.   
  
Wraith nodded mutely, a smile fixed to her lips. As she watched him disappear into the snowfall around the Manor, she felt a deep and aching emptiness inside her––and she couldn't really figure out why. Wrapping her arms tightly across her chest, she shivered. Was it that Harper was gone? Would she miss him that much?   
  
 _No_ , she thought dimly.  _No, the feeling was there before. It isn't Harper_. Something told her that the feeling had to do with her dream, but beyond that she did not want to look too closely at it.   
  
Sighing, Wraith turned and walked back into the Manor, dread circling 'round her shoulders like a cloak.


	70. Persistence

_"Beware the fury of a patient man."_  
  
  
  
  
It was an hour after dawn that Wraith knocked on the Dark Lord's tower door. She stood and waited, shifting the burden she carried, wondering if he would be awake.   
  
"Enter."   
  
Wraith flicked a hand at the door, opening it with a thought, and stepped into the room. Voldemort stood at the window and gave her a curious look as he turned to face her. Wraith smirked and set the tea tray she carried down on the desk. "No house-elves," she said with a shrug. "Thanks to you," she reminded him wryly.   
  
Voldemort crossed to his chair and slowly sat, keeping his eyes on his Wraith. "Did you sleep at all?" he demanded of her.   
  
Something flickered in her eyes, but it passed too quickly for his to read it. "A little," she admitted, pouring a cup of tea. "I woke up before dawn and couldn't get back to sleep."   
  
Voldemort considered her as she offered the cup to him. "What woke you?" he asked, "Another nightmare?"   
  
Wraith hesitated. "Not exactly," she said, leaning her hip against the desk. "It was a strange dream, but I don't know that I'd call it a nightmare. Certainly nothing like the others," she added softly. "For one thing, I can remember what passed in it. It was…interesting."   
  
"Oh?"   
  
She smiled just slightly. "I could see my power," she told him, holding up her hands, "Bright lines of light just under my skin, crisscrossing along my veins. I was glowing with it."   
  
Voldemort tilted his head to one side. "That is interesting."   
  
"Gets better," Wraith said sardonically. "I felt pain, the sort that comes when you pull power from me. I watched those lines of light under my skin dim and then turn black."  
  
The Dark Lord's eyes narrowed and a moment of tension flashed between them. Wraith broke the moment.  
  
"…Like I said––It was interesting."   
  
She fell silent, but Voldemort did not break the silence for he sensed she had more to say.   
  
"Have they found Vaisey?" she asked at last.   
  
"I've heard nothing yet," Voldemort said.   
  
Wraith chewed on the inside of her cheek, scowling. She touched a hand to her left arm absentmindedly. "You know if he gets to the Order, I'll have to worry about future bullets," she said darkly. "Everyone knows by now that I'm immune to wizards' magic––but after my fight with McGonagall they know I'm still susceptible to physical injury. And now with Vaisey, they know how effective that Muggle weapon is against me."   
  
Voldemort's scowl matched hers. "We don't know that he'll go to the Order," he told her. "He may very well seek out the survivors of the rebellion his uncle joined."   
  
"I heard him speak of his uncle," Wraith remembered bitterly. "I should have figured it out then."   
  
Voldemort said nothing, but she knew he might be thinking the same.   
  
Wraith looked at him and was rather darkly pleased to see the half-healed cut on his lip where she had bit him was still visible. Glancing to the door, she sighed. "You know," she said lightly, "it occurs to me that many of my fellow Death Eaters are predominantly nocturnal creatures."   
  
Voldemort's eyes narrowed, catching a hidden meaning in her innocent words. "…And?" he prompted.   
  
"And therefore it is likely that they are all still asleep in their beds," she said, coming around the desk, "and it is very unlikely that anyone will come knocking on your door at this hour of the morning."   
  
A slow smile came to the Dark Lord's face. "A good thought," he commented, setting his cup on the desk.   
  
Wraith smirked and sat on the chair's armrest, her legs curled over Voldemort's. "A pity I'm still annoyed at you though," she said maddeningly tranquil.   
  
"Are you?" Voldemort said, touching one hand to her waist as the other slid lightly over her legs.   
  
Wraith's smirk twisted into an infuriating smile. She leaned forward a little to touch a fingertip to the cut on his lip. "Does that hurt?" she asked softly.   
  
As an answer Voldemort pulled her down into his lap. His lips traced along hers, barely touching. Wraith's breath caught and she put one arm around his neck to balance herself. Neither one closed their eyes as their lips brushed and teased in equal measure. Wraith felt a laugh rise in her throat, but she suppressed it firmly, though she couldn't help but smile. Curling her free hand around the back of his head, Wraith pressed her lips more firmly to his.   
  
––And someone in the doorway very loudly cleared their throat.   
  
Wraith stiffened, her head whipping around to see who was there.   
  
Rafe leaned against the doorframe, wearing a travelling cloak and a playful smirk. He wiggled an eyebrow at her when their eyes met.   
  
Wraith tried to rise, but Voldemort, his eyes also on Rafe, held her still. Embarrassed and wondering at what her Lord was thinking, Wraith settled as comfortably as she could in his lap, frowning at Rafe indignantly.   
  
"Rafe," Voldemort said in greeting, the irritation clear in his tone, "You are early…several hours early in fact."   
  
The werewolf shrugged and said in an unconvincing apologetic tone, "I was in the neighborhood." His smirk became a full grin as he stepped further into the room. "Forgive the intrusion, my Lord. I see that I've interrupted your fun."   
  
"You do remember that I could kill you where you stand, don't you Rafe?" Wraith asked, her voice acidic.   
  
"Please accept my apologies, my Lady," Rafe said, bowing his head.   
  
"When you mean them, I might," Wraith muttered under her breath.   
  
"Down, pet," Voldemort whispered in her ear.   
  
"Perhaps I should have sent a message with Vivaldi," Rafe said, tilting his head to one side. "Seeing as your Wraith so often steals him away."  
  
"Hard to steal someone when they come so willingly," Wraith retorted, settling her head in the crook of her Lord's shoulder.    
  
Rafe laughed, his dark eyes glittering with a touch of lupine gold. "I do like your claws, kitten," he said, grinning at her, "and it seems I'm not the only one."  
  
Wraith smiled back, rather coyly, and turned her head slightly so that her lips brushed along the Dark Lord's neck.   
  
Voldemort touched a hand to her hair, smiling just slightly. "I assume you've come early for a reason other than interrupting my fun?"   
  
Rafe nodded, a touch of his humor vanishing beneath a more serious tone. "After my pack found that group of rebels hiding in our territory, we set up various traps to catch any others that might pass through," he explained. "Early this morning, we found a trap that had been tripped. Whoever it was escaped the trap, but not without shedding a little blood."  
  
"And I suppose that means you're tracking them," Voldemort said, sounding a little impatient, "but why does that bring you here now?"  
  
"The blood itself," Rafe said. "It smelled a great deal like Katherine Talbot's."  
  
Wraith stiffened almost imperceptibly.   
  
"Talbot's?" Voldemort repeated thoughtfully. "Interesting…"  
  
"I know you're still looking for that husband of hers," Rafe said, "Do they have a child? A son or daughter that would be looking for their parents?"  
  
"A son, if I recall correctly," Voldemort said. "He'd be around thirteen or so––just a boy."  
  
Wraith made a small disparaging sound.   
  
"What, pet?" the Dark Lord demanded.  
  
"Nothing, my Lord," she said quietly.   
  
"I've sent Ze'eva to trace the blood-trail," Rafe said, casually ignoring the exchange between master and servant. "She's my best."  
  
"And if we can get our hands on the boy then perhaps we can flush out the father," Voldemort said. "You are a valuable ally, Rafe."  
  
Rafe bowed slightly, smiling. "I thank you, my Lord." His eyes narrowed and his smile went hard. "We'll capture him alive. You have my word." He straightened and took a step back. "I'll return at our appointed time, my Lord," he said then, moving to the door.   
  
"Good," Voldemort said shortly.   
  
Rafe flashed Wraith another knowing grin before he disappeared through the door.   
  
Wraith immediately stood, pulling herself free of the Dark Lord's hold. He let her go without argument, though he did scowl.   
  
"Why didn't you let me stand when he came?" Wraith demanded, a flash of embarrassment coloring her cheeks.   
  
"Body language is important when it comes to werewolves," Voldemort told her. "Keeping you where you were showed Rafe pressed home the point that he'd come uninvited and marked you as mine."  
  
"Killing two birds with one stone, my Lord?" Wraith said dryly.  
  
The Dark Lord gave her a look that silenced her. "Now that he is gone, why don't you tell me what passed through your mind while we were speaking of the Talbot boy?"      
  
"The Potter boy was one, eleven, fourteen, and fifteen when he thwarted you, my Lord," she reminded him, her tone unforgiving. "Thirteen is not an age you should hold in contempt. You of all people should know not to underestimate a child."   
  
Voldemort scowled, his inhuman eyes flashing with temper. "Thank you for reminding me, my Wraith," he said darkly.    
  
Wraith shrugged, turning away from him. "You asked."  
  
The Dark Lord sighed impatiently. "Pet, come back here," he commanded lightly.  
  
"I don't know why we should bother," Wraith said unsympathetically. "The moment we start anything, someone will show up again." She glanced over her shoulder at him. "Perhaps Fate is trying to tell us something?"  
  
"Wraith."  
  
She shook her head, looking troubled. "I'm going to try and get some more sleep," she told him, crossing to the door. "I'm sorry, my Lord."  
  
Voldemort stood, making her pause at the threshold. He gave her an odd look when their eyes met. "I am a patient man, my Wraith," he told her. "We will speak on this later."  
  
Wraith blinked at him in slight surprise, but she nodded mutely and was gone.


	71. Blood

_"Robespierre replied softly, 'the question is to know where the enemy is.' 'He is out there, and I have hunted him,' said Danton. 'He is within, and I am watching him,' said Robespierre."_  
  
  
  
  
The night was deep and black and silent save for the harsh whisper of falling snow outside. The Manor itself seemed to be holding its breath as though waiting for something.   
  
Wraith felt the tension within like a vice around her throat as she descended the tower stairs. She again had that odd heavy feeling that someone's eyes were upon her as she hurried down the hall. The girl listened to the silence around her, more than half expecting to hear that strange haunting voice break it.   
  
It was with great relief that she reached the Dark Lord's tower. Just before the door she paused and glanced back over her shoulder. Still she felt those eyes upon her.   
  
"Who are you?" she asked in a hushed whisper. "What do you want from me?"   
  
The feeling abruptly vanished. Wraith frowned for she knew she had not imagined it. The knowledge left her feeling cold. She remained still a moment longer, staring at nothing, before she turned and pushed open the door.   
  
Voldemort sat before the fire, watching it intently. "My Wraith," he said, not glancing up.   
  
"My Lord," she replied lightly, her eyes also going to the flames. "Has he not reported yet?"   
  
Voldemort slowly shook his head. "I expect him any moment."   
  
Wraith came around the desk to stand beside the Dark Lord's chair. "His letter seemed to have an air of optimism, terse as it was."   
  
The Dark Lord had finally received word from Dolohov, the Death Eater who had followed after Vaisey, earlier that evening. The letter had said almost nothing, but promised a more throughout report when the Death Eater deemed it safer to speak.   
  
Voldemort scowled and said nothing in reply. Wraith glanced at the fire again and then back at her Lord. Moving slowly as if waiting for a reprimand, she seated herself on the chair's armrest, her legs curling over his. Voldemort did not stop her; in fact he leaned to the side so that she would have an easier task of it.   
  
Feeling more at ease by his side, Wraith let some of her tension melt away. Voldemort looked to her, placing one hand on her knees. "You seem agitated, my pet," he said curiously.   
  
Wraith's eyes darted towards the door before she replied, "No more than usual, my Lord."   
  
Voldemort's eyes narrowed. "You're lying, my Wraith."   
  
She winced at the truth of his words and said nothing.   
  
"What has your hackles up, pet?"   
  
Wraith turned her head, meeting his eyes and holding them a moment. Slowly, she recited, " _Yesterday upon the stair, I met a man who wasn't there. He wasn't there again today. Oh, how I wish he'd go away_."   
  
"Pet?"   
  
"It's the Manor, my Lord," Wraith told him, her voice low as if she did not want to be overheard. She fell silent, trying to find the right words to explain what she was feeling. "…Something here watches me."   
  
"Watches you?"   
  
"It's getting worse," Wraith continued in a whisper. "Sometimes when I walk through the halls I expect to turn and see someone following me. I feel those eyes upon me when I sleep. It as if they crawl inside my head and create those nightmares that keep me from resting. …And it's getting worse."   
  
Voldemort saw the firelight reflect in her strange broken eyes and the fear beneath the flames. "You are safe here," he told her. "There is nothing to fear from whatever ghosts may linger here."   
  
Wraith wished that she believed him. She leaned forward slightly and pressed her forehead to his. "I feel safer by your side," she told him truthfully. She kissed his temple and leaned back once more, looking expectantly to the fireplace. "And here's Dolohov."   
  
There was a soft  _pop_  from the fireplace and a disembodied head appeared within the flames. Dolohov's pockmarked face stared up at them, an excited gleam in his eyes. "My Lord," he said, his eyes flickering towards Wraith. "My Lady."   
  
"Evening, Dolohov," Wraith said with a slight smile. "I hope you have good news for our Lord."   
  
"I believe I do," Dolohov replied, liking her teasing tone. "My Lord, as I stated in my letter, I was able to grab hold of that brat Vaisey when he Disapparated. He took us to a glen outside London. I hope that you will forgive my impertinence, my Lord, but I let him slip through my grasp there."   
  
"On purpose, I take it then?" Voldemort said.   
  
"Yes, my Lord," Dolohov said, nodding his head. "I thought to follow the boy, see just who it was he intended to meet."   
  
"And were you successful?"   
  
"Very, my Lord," the Death Eater said. "The brat went deeper into the woods; I followed him throughout the night and the next day. There was a cabin there and people waiting for him. They were from the Order."   
  
"But are they still there?"   
  
"They are," Dolohov assured him. "They're waiting on someone else to arrive. If we strike tonight, we can capture him and the others with little effort."   
  
Voldemort smiled slowly and sat back in his throne-like chair. "Well done, Antonin," he said. "Where are you now?"   
  
"Back in London at the moment, so that I could report to you."   
  
"You shall be met outside the city," Voldemort told him. "And we shall take them."   
  
Dolohov bowed his head, an odd gesture in the fire. "As you command, my Lord." With another  _pop_ , he was gone.   
  
"Are we leaving then?" Wraith asked her Lord.   
  
But he paused, studying her. "You are still weak, my Wraith," he told her. "You will remain here."   
  
"But, my Lord––" Wraith started to argue, but fell silent when Voldemort held up a hand.   
  
"Never fear, my pet," he said with dark humor, "You are still my Executioner. I shall bring him here to face judgment."   
  
Wraith felt an odd stirring of bloodlust that always seemed to rise with her temper. For all that she disliked her role as the Lady Death she wanted to repay Vaisey for the bullet––and for Harper's pain.   
  
A dark smile twisted her lips as she leaned closer to her Lord. "Thank you," she whispered, her lips hovering over his. Voldemort took hold of her chin and pressed his mouth to hers firmly. When they parted, Wraith's eyes glittered in the firelight. She held up a hand and Voldemort saw something small in her palm. He frowned at he studied it and then smiled as he realized what it was she held.  
  
"Vicious clever little thing," he murmured.   
  
"Bring him back to me," Wraith said simply. "I owe him for this."   
  
  
  
  
Voldemort gathered a group of his most trusted Death Eaters to the Manor, including Bellatrix and her husband. Wraith sneered delicately in the woman's direction at the sight of her, glad that she was wearing her dagger at her waist. Bellatrix scowled, but her eyes darted to the dagger and she turned away without a word.   
  
Rodolphus looked between them and then touched a hand to his wife's shoulder as he stepped away from her. Wraith raised a questioning eyebrow at him as the man approached her. Rodolphus bowed to her deeply. "My Lady," he murmured.   
  
"Lestrange."   
  
Curious, the Dark Lord watched the exchange from across the room.   
  
Rodolphus cleared his throat and spoke softly, "My Lady, forgive me if I speak out of turn––but don't you think this has gone on long enough?"   
  
Wraith laughed, her voice a bell across the room, and tilted her head to one side. "Don't deny me of my fun, Rodolphus," she told him with a twisted grin. She touched a hand to the dagger. "You do recall that your wife tried to kill me with this very blade? I think it only right that she fears it so…don't you agree?"   
  
Rodolphus bowed to hide his scowl. "As you say…my Lady."   
  
As he straightened, Wraith stepped closer to him and touched a hand under his bearded chin. "You'll make no friend of me, Lestrange," she told him firmly. "So don't try."   
  
With that, she stepped around him, head held high. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Rabastan grinning at his brother's humiliation.   
  
Voldemort held out a hand to gesture her closer. She went to his side at once.   
  
"You could be kinder," Voldemort told her.   
  
"I could," Wraith agreed with the same knife-edged smile. Her tone made it clear that she had intention of being kind whatsoever.   
  
"My brother is a sycophant," Rabastan said under his breath, coming up beside her. "Why else do you think he's married to that woman?"   
  
"And you Rabastan?" Wraith replied without looking at him, her voice just as soft, "Are you not trying to curry my favor by disparaging him to me?"   
  
She saw his smile widen slightly. "Of course I am," he said simply. "But I'll admit, it  _is_  nice to see my elder brother cut down a bit."   
  
"Often in his shadow, are you?"   
  
"Not half as much as he is overshadowed by his wife," Rabastan said.   
  
"Time to go," Voldemort said, cutting their conversation short.   
  
Rabastan bowed low to the Wraith and stepped away. Wraith gave him the smallest of smiles before she turned to the Dark Lord. "My Lord," she murmured, reaching for his hands. "I'll await your success return," she told him, smiling just for him, "but still, I rather wish I was going with you."   
  
"I need you returned to your full strength, my pet," he said, his tone brooking no argument. "But I appreciate your resolve." He stepped back, gesturing to the gathered Death Eaters. "I'll return shortly," he told her.   
  
Wraith dipped into a curtsy, her skirts a fan around her. "Good hunting, my Lord," she said.      
  
  
  
  
It was almost morning before the Dark Lord returned to the Manor with his Death Eaters. Wraith was pacing before the fireplace in the drawing room when she felt his return. Moving swiftly, she threw open the doors and stepped out into the entrance hall, crystal eyes burning.  
  
But one look at her Lord's face as he entered told her that things had not gone as planned. "My Lord?" she said, meeting him halfway.   
  
He stepped past her without a word.   
  
Wraith stiffened almost imperceptibly and turned to follow him, eyes narrowed. The Dark Lord made for the stairs and Wraith slowed her pace so that she felt into step with Rabastan. "What happened?" she demanded harshly.   
  
"It was a trap," he said bitterly, a thin cut oozing blood on his cheek. "Vaisey knew he'd been followed. We walked right into it and the brat got away again."   
  
Wraith cursed under her breath.   
  
"My Lady…"   
  
Wraith hissed at him for silence and walked away from him, hurrying after the Dark Lord. A step behind him, Wraith kept her eyes on his back. But as they came closer to his tower, she paused. Without a word to him, she changed her course to her own tower. When he did not stop her, Wraith judged that he wasn't keen for her company in the aftermath of the loss.   
  
When she reached her room, she slammed the door shut and crossed to the mirror hanging on the wall. She touched a hand to the smooth glass, a spark of power at her fingertips. The mirror clouded, her reflection disappearing as the glass did her bidding.   
  
A moment later, the mirror cleared once more, but it did not reflect the tower room. Instead, Snape's sallow face stared out at her, wearing an almost irritated expression. "Lady Wraith," he said, his voice echoing oddly from the glass. "Did you need something?"   
  
"You are to come to the Manor at once," she told him shortly, her voice biting.   
  
"May I ask why?"   
  
"Because I told you to," she snapped, "…And because the Dark Lord trusts you. Get here  _now_."   
  
She waved her hand and Snape's face disappeared before he could argue.   
  
  
  
  
Wraith met Snape at the Dark Lord's tower stairs, her face unreadable. "Follow," she told him shortly, starting up the stairs without a backwards glance. Snape did as she said, but her imperious tone made his spine stiffen with indignation.   
  
Wraith opened the door without knocking and closed it just as swiftly after Snape had entered.   
  
Voldemort stood at his desk, one hand leaning heavily on the surface. His inhuman eyes darted between them. "Severus, what are you doing here?" he demanded, "What is this?"   
  
"I called him here," Wraith said, "So that he could heal you."   
  
Voldemort's eyes widened in shock and then narrowed dangerously. "How did you––?"   
  
"When you passed me I smelled your blood," she told him. "And you hide it well, but you were walking with a limp."   
  
"I do not require assistance," he hissed at her.   
  
Her own eyes narrowing to match his, she crossed the room to him and pressed a hand to his side, pushing firmly. Voldemort let out a grunt of pain and fell back against the desk.   
  
Wraith's hand came away bloody.   
  
"Any more arguments, my Lord?" she whispered darkly. He lifted his eyes to her and she saw the fury burning in the red orbs. But she did not waver. Instead, she turned back to look at Snape. "Severus," she snapped impatiently.   
  
Snape hesitated, but Voldemort inclined his head just slightly in consent. Wraith helped him stand straighter as he slowly stripped his robes to his waist. Just under his ribs was a deep gouge, still steadily bleeding out, and only by a quick charm on his part had he kept it hidden from his Death Eaters. He allowed no weakness to be shown to them, not even to those he trusted most. He leaned back against the desk as Snape knelt to examine the wound. Wraith lifted herself up onto the desk and wrapped an arm loosely around her Lord's neck, resting her chin upon his shoulder.   
  
"I've killed people for far less than what you've done tonight, my Wraith," Voldemort told her, his mouth twisted with pain.   
  
"I know," Wraith said, "I've watched you do it."   
  
Snape glanced up at their faces briefly. "Is there a reason you could not do this yourself, Lady Wraith?" he asked.   
  
"It is enough that I can't," she snapped at him. "Do not question me, Severus."   
  
"As you wish," he replied evenly. He turned his attention back to the wound, murmuring a soft incantation as he passed his wand over it. The wound stopped bleeding and slowly began to knit closed.   
  
"How did it happen?" Wraith asked her Lord as Snape repeated the charm.   
  
"Kingsley," he replied shortly. "I paid him back for it." He sighed impatiently. "It's been a long time since someone bloodied me."   
  
Snape straightened and stowed his wand back in his robes. "You should rest, my Lord," he suggested carefully, "To make sure the healing takes."   
  
Voldemort gestured dismissively. "You have my gratitude, Severus," he said, "but that will be all. You may go."   
  
"I'll see to him now," Wraith said simply.   
  
Another scowl passed over the Dark Lord's face, but Snape was curious to see the calculating expression that followed it. Snape bowed low. "My Lord," he murmured before turning on his heel.   
  
Wraith waited until he was out the door before she looked to the Dark Lord. "You will rest, won't you?"   
  
Voldemort pulled out of her loose embrace and stepped away from the desk. "I don't see how I'm going to get out of it," he said.   
  
Wraith did not rise to the bait in his tone. "Things would be much simpler if I could have healed you myself," she said instead.   
  
"There's not a thing that either of us can do to change it," he told her firmly. He winced slightly and pressed a hand to the closed wound. Moving stiffly, he turned to the bookcase. "Come," he said, gesturing her to follow.   
  
She slipped off the desk and hurried to his side, putting an arm around his waist to help support him. They reached the shelves and Voldemort tapped his wand to an inconspicuous book upon it. The shelf shifted back to reveal a hidden staircase behind it.   
  
Together they made slow progress up the steps, coming to a darken room above. The room was all but empty, save for a grand bed and a smaller desk. There was no fireplace and no windows.   
  
"So this is where my Lord sleeps," Wraith murmured gently, crossing with him to the bed.   
  
"On the rare occasion that I do," Voldemort said. He slowly sank onto the edge of the bed and lay down.   
  
Wraith stood at the edge of the bed. "Do you want me to stay?" she asked softly.   
  
"I've no objection to you doing so," he said. "But you must rest as well, my pet."   
  
"Why is that, my Lord?"   
  
"Because tomorrow I'm sending  _you_  to hunt Vaisey down."   
  
Wraith smiled slightly and sat on the edge of the bed. "Whatever my Lord demands of me," she whispered. She crawled across the bed to where he lay and pressed her lips to his forehead, one hand resting upon his chest. "Sleep," she murmured, her voice a caress.


	72. Hunter

_"I have a right to my anger, and I don't want anybody telling me I shouldn't be, that it's not nice to be, and that something's wrong with me because I get angry."_  
  
  
  
  
Snape entered the Headmaster's office, closing the door softly behind him.   
  
The portrait hanging over the desk read the pensive look upon the man's face carefully. "Severus? What did she want?"   
  
Snape scowled slightly and fell into the chair behind the desk. "The Dark Lord was injured tonight," he replied, "He'd hidden the wound from the others, but she knew he was hurt. She called me to the Manor to help heal him."   
  
Dumbledore frowned deeply. "I would think that she could do that herself."   
  
"The thought occurred to me as well," Snape said. "She was very short with me when I brought it up; said that she couldn't and not to question her."   
  
"What do you make of that?"   
  
"It occurred to me then that I had never seen her work any sort of magic on the Dark Lord," Snape said slowly. "For whatever reason, I believe that the Dark Lord is immune to her powers as she is to ours."   
  
"It would explain a great deal," Dumbledore said thoughtfully. "If she can't use her powers against him, he would think that he had very little to fear from her. It might be why he seems to trust her as much as he does."   
  
"And again, I'm prompted to ask the essential question," Snape said darkly, "Just what  _is_  she?"  
  
  
  
  
It was not long before the Dark Lord came awake once more. He knew that his Wraith still lay beside him, for her hand still rested upon his chest, though she'd kept a distance between them otherwise. Turning his head, he saw her curled up like a kitten, her other hand tucked beneath her head as a pillow.   
  
For a few minutes, he simply watched her breath, struck by how fragile she appeared beside him. In sleep, her face held no masks to hide her unease or her weakness. He saw the deep dark circles beneath her eyes and the strain around her lips. Voldemort wondered just how much she had been hiding from him––and how much longer the girl would last within the Manor walls.  _"Something here watches me…it's getting worse…"_  He scowled, remembering the words that had slipped from her mouth the night before. Was his Manor actually haunted or was it all in the girl's head? If there was truth to her fears, then there was only one specter that would have latched onto her so and the thought of it did not please the Dark Lord.   
  
As he watched her, her eyes slowly opened to meet his. There was a cloud of confusion in the crystal orbs, as if she was not sure of where she was––but after a moment her eyes cleared. Blinking at him, realizing that he was awake and staring at her, she tensed just slightly. Voldemort felt it in the hand upon his chest.   
  
"Morning," Wraith murmured, not moving. "Did you sleep at all?" she asked.   
  
"Enough," he replied. "And you?"   
  
"Better than I have in a while," she admitted, shifting slightly closer. "Perchance the ghost haunting me is afraid of you?" She smiled slightly, but there was a false note to it. After a moment, she let it fall away. "Do you want me to leave?" she asked then as she pulled her hand away from him.   
  
"No," he told her shortly.   
  
Moving quickly, he turned, grabbing her wrists, and pinned her down upon the bed. She froze beneath him, the sudden fear clear on her face. Voldemort saw it but did not release her. Moving slowly, he leaned down, touching his mouth almost gently to hers. Keeping her eyes half-open and locked with his, Wraith tilted her chin up to deepen the kiss. Her lips parted beneath his, inviting him to take more. She shifted beneath him as he pressed the full weight of his body onto her, keeping her in place.   
  
"Let me go," she murmured, her mouth still lingering on his.   
  
"You'll run," was his reply. He released her mouth to trail down the length of her throat, his teeth grazing lightly over her skin.   
  
"I won't," she promised breathlessly. "Let me go."   
  
Tilting his head up to meet her eyes, he very slowly released her wrists. Wraith sighed in relief. She brought her hands to his shoulders, suddenly very aware of the fact that he was still stripped to the waist. Curious, she let her fingertips drift over sharp shoulder blades as his teeth grazed over her collarbone.   
  
Voldemort slipped a hand under her back and lifted her slightly from the bed. Wraith stiffened slightly as his fingers found the lacings of her dress and began to loosen them.   
  
"Turnabout is fair play, pet," he whispered, lifting his eyes to hers. He shifted up so that his eyes were on level with hers. Wraith said nothing and did not fight as the top of her dress became loose, but Voldemort felt her trembling with fear beneath him. "I'm not going to hurt you," he told her, his patience wearing a little thinner. He put his hands on the bed to either side of her, lifting his torso slightly above hers. "Off," he ordered harshly.   
  
Still shaking slightly, her eyes on his, Wraith slowly slipped her arms from the sleeves of her dress, but held the rest in place over her breasts. When a low warning growl echoed in the Dark Lord's throat, Wraith found herself smiling slightly. Recognizing the sharp-edged and teasing smirk, Voldemort smiled in return. Wraith let her hands fall away and the Dark Lord took the gesture as an invitation. He leaned down once more, his mouth trailing along her collarbone as he pulled the dress down to her waist. Wraith's heart pounded like a drum within her, but she forced herself to remain still.   
  
Voldemort lifted his head to consider his Wraith's frail form. She was small, her skin pale and perfect, and she seemed ridiculously fragile. He could count her ribs beneath the skin and thought to himself that she was still too thin to be truly healthy.   
  
With one hand, the Dark Lord took hold of Wraith's wrists once more and held them down on the pillows above her head. Wraith's breath went harsh and nearly frantic, but still she did not fight him. "I won't hurt you," he said again, slipping his other hand under her back and lifting her up slightly.   
  
Wraith's head fell back and her breath caught in her throat as Voldemort's mouth closed over her breast. She writhed beneath him, but not in an effort to free herself. Voldemort felt a surge of raw power and lust surge through him at the reaction he'd brought about in her.  _Mine_ , he thought possessively as he tightened his grip on her.  
  
"Ah!" Wraith cried out as he used his teeth before turning equal attention to her other breast. Voldemort released her wrists and brought his mouth back to hers. Wraith clung to him, skin to skin, her arms locked around his neck. Voldemort's hand had replaced his mouth before his fingertips skimmed down her belly. Wraith moaned into his mouth and shifted beneath him, her legs digging into his sides.   
  
Voldemort stiffened suddenly and cursed as he felt his wound twinge with pain. He cursed again through clenched teeth as he turned and lay on his back.   
  
Wraith sat up, still breathless, but her eyes were wide with concern. "Are you alright?" she asked quickly. "Did I––?"   
  
"It's fine," Voldemort told her through his teeth, "Just a twinge. It will pass."  
  
Wraith shifted slightly on the bed, rather uncomfortable in her own skin now that the moment had been broken. She resisted the urge to pull her dress back up.   
  
Voldemort winced as he shifted into a sitting position, leaning back against the headboard. The pain was already a memory as he looked to his Wraith again. He reached out, running his hand down her side and up again. He smiled to see her eyelids flutter closed at his touch.   
  
"So small," he murmured as she moved closer to rest her cheek upon his shoulder, "So delicate. It's a wonder you don't break at the slightest touch."   
  
A soft sigh of need tumbled from her lips as his hand continued to explore her skin. "My Lord," came the whisper as she lifted her head. Turning just a little, she touched one small cool hand to his face, turning it towards her, and kissed him.   
  
The kiss was soft and deep and somehow more intimate than anything else they had done. An unexpected shiver ran through Voldemort and he pulled back from her, at the same time pushing her away. Wraith met his eyes and somehow knew she had crossed a line her Lord hadn't wanted her to. She dropped her gaze, hesitating before she moved to the edge of the bed.   
  
"Do you really think I've enough strength to hunt Vaisey down?" she asked, dressing again.   
  
"I think you're clever enough to use the power you have wisely," Voldemort told her. "They won't be expecting you."  
  
"Shall I start where they set their trap last night? I might be able to pick up their trail from there," she said, glancing over her shoulder at him.   
  
"It's as good a place as any to begin," he replied, watching her as she stood. "You're to bring him back here once you've found him," he ordered firmly.  
  
"Alive?" she asked, just to be sure.  
  
"Yes," the Dark Lord with the slightest understanding smile, "though you may take your pound of flesh if you wish––Just as long as he's still breathing when you get here."   
  
Wraith flashed that sharp little smirk. "I may take you up on that offer," she told him, twisting something small in her fingers. Her smile faltered slightly as she leaned against the bedpost. "You'll rest until you're fully healed?" It wasn't truly a question.   
  
"Be gone, my Wraith," Voldemort said, waving a hand in a dismissive gesture. "I don't need you acting a mother to me."  
  
Wraith cocked an eyebrow and her smirk returned, "Or a wife?"   
  
The Dark Lord lifted his eyes to hers and a slow satisfied smile twisted his mouth. "Good hunting, pet," he said in an echo of her words the night before.   
  
  
  
  
Vaisey stumbled into the derelict building and slammed the door shut, pressing all of his weight against it.   
  
"Who is it?" asked a voice behind him.   
  
Vaisey threw a sharp grin over his shoulder. "I think it's Dolohov again," the boy replied. "He'd be eager to 'correct' his mistake."   
  
"But how did he find us?" asked a different voice.   
  
Vaisey shrugged indifferently. "Does it matter? We're not going to be here much longer. And this gives a chance to put him down for good." He stepped away from the door, slipping behind the false wall with the others hidden there. "Here he comes."   
  
There was sharp knock on the door, surprising all within the building.   
  
"Little pig, little pig," came a harsh teasing whisper, "let me in."   
  
Vaisey suppressed a shiver of fear. The voice wasn't clear enough for him to really identify its owner, but he was suddenly certain that it wasn't Dolohov. A horrible thought suddenly occurred to him––" _No_ ," he whispered under his breath.   
  
The door slowly swung open of its own accord and a cloaked and hooded figure stepped into the dark little room. The figure walked casually into the room, glancing to either side.   
  
As the Death Eater reached the middle of the room, the door suddenly slammed shut again. The figure glanced over their shoulder with only an air of curiosity. A light and bell-like laugh echoed through the room. The figure reached up and lowered their hood. As it fell to her shoulders, the black of the dress began to bleed out to white until only the edges of the sleeves and the hem were stained with shadow.   
  
Wraith spun slowly in place, calling out almost sweetly, "I know you're there…Come out and play, Ethan."   
  
There was a soft, almost inaudible  _click_  from behind her. She spun quickly, waving a hand nonchalantly. A thread of power sparked from her fingertips and the gun that the wizard behind her held was suddenly thrown across the room.   
  
Wraith straightened and made a soft  _tsk_ 'ing sound. "Fool me once," she said with a mocking smile.   
  
She kept her eyes on her would-be attacker, even as she saw several others slip into the room and surround her. Each one was cloaked and hooded as she had been, including the one who stood before her.   
  
With a sigh, Wraith glanced around her. "A miscalculation on your parts," she told them simply, "There is no door, no lock; no trap by wizard hand made that can hold me." Still smiling slightly, Wraith spoke to the one in front of her. "That was Vaisey's gun," she said evenly, "but you aren't Vaisey, are you?"   
  
The wizard did not reply.   
  
Wraith tilted her head to one side, curious. She flicked a hand and the wizard's hood fell away before he could stop it.   
  
Broken blue met bright green.   
  
A numbing thrill flashed just under Wraith's skin. "Well, well," she murmured, a wicked grin stretching her lips. "Harry Potter––The Boy Who Lived."


	73. Prey

_"I am prepared to meet my Maker. Whether my Maker is prepared for the great ordeal of meeting me is another matter."_  
  
  
  
  
The young man who stood before her was easily recognizable. His eyes were wide behind his glasses, and a sheen of sweat beaded upon his brow.   
  
"You're the Wraith." It wasn't a question. Harry studied her as she did him. Her eyes disturbed him––the broken glass look to them and the serpentine way she moved made her seem somehow less than human.   
  
Wraith's grin took a hard edge to it. "Ah, now I am faced with a conundrum," she said brightly, crossing her arms. Considering him, she tapped a slender finger to her lips. "It would be in my Lord's best interest to kill you where you stand," she said, her voice light, "But he so very much wants to kill you himself. I don't think I could deny my Lord the pleasure of seeing you die before his eyes."   
  
"I've seen your face before," Harry said suddenly, thoroughly distracting her. He saw her strange eyes cloud with startled confusion and her teasing smile faltered   
  
"Oh?"   
  
"Through  _his_  eyes," Harry told her.   
  
The expression drained from the Wraith's face, leaving it pale and masklike. Very slowly, she spoke, "And what else did you see, pray tell?"   
  
Harry forced himself to keep his eyes on her face as he answered. "I saw you take a killing curse to the chest," he told her, "You were begging him not to kill McGonagall."   
  
Something almost sad passed through her eyes. "…And what else did you see?" The question was somehow softer.   
  
"He ordered you to heal her," Harry replied. "That was the last I saw."  
  
Wraith gave him a bitter smile. "And how is Minerva doing these days?"   
  
"I'm not likely to tell you, am I?"   
  
Her smile widened briefly. "You're a smart boy."   
  
The slightest flicker of his eyes towards the air over her shoulder was the only warning she had. With a snarl, she turned suddenly and caught hold of Vaisey's wrist. In his fist he held a long knife.   
  
"Hello, Ethan," Wraith greeted him with a dark smile.   
  
Blue fire erupted in her palm and encircled Vaisey's wrist. He screamed in pain, dropping the knife.   
  
"Harry, get out of here!"   
  
Wraith spun at the words, but she was too late. Harry Potter had already disappeared through the door and Disapparated.   
  
Wraith's eyes latched onto the witch who had yelled the warning and she moved towards her. The witch pointed her wand, not at Wraith, but at the ceiling above her. The blasting curse cracked the roof open and Wraith had to backtrack quickly to avoid being buried in debris. Most of the other wizards quickly Disapparated away before she could properly react.    
  
Hissing a curse, she turned her attention back to Vaisey, who was kneeling on the floor, clutching his burned wrist. As if he could feel her gaze upon him, the boy surged to his feet; his good hand going for his wand even though he knew it would be of no use.   
  
"I have something of yours," Wraith told him. "I thought I should return it to you."   
  
Her hand flicked out and something small flew across the distance between them faster than the eye could see. Vaisey screamed again as the object hit his shoulder with a spray of blood. He fell to the ground, still screaming and cursing in pain.   
  
"Your bullet," Wraith told him shortly. She watched him writhe on the ground a moment before taking a step towards him.   
  
"Don't!"   
  
Wraith glanced over her shoulder to see the witch from before pointing the discarded gun at her. Wraith cocked her head to the side and smiled just slightly. "You're shaking," she whispered to the witch. "Never held a gun before, have you?" She looked the witch over and realized that they had to be close to the same age. "What's your name?" Wraith asked her.   
  
The witch did not seem disposed to answer. Wraith's eyes narrowed. The witch's trembling increased as the answer was pulled forcibly from her lips, "H-Hermione G-Granger."   
  
"Ah," Wraith said, suddenly understanding. "You're one of Potter's friends. I've heard of you." She gestured dismissively to where Vaisey still squirmed on the ground. "What is he to you?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "Why stop me from bringing him to my Lord for justice?"   
  
"We're on the same side," Hermione replied, her voice strong though she still shook. "We protect each other."   
  
Wraith laughed and the sound was a bright and terrible thing. "He is a traitor and a false friend. What makes you think he wouldn't put a knife in your back just as soon as mine, hm?" Turning slightly, with her temper flashing in her eyes, she said, "He used his oldest friend as a means to an end, used him as a shield to protect his own hide, held that very gun against his head. Is that the kind of rabble you want fighting at your side?"   
  
Hermione lowered the gun slightly, frowning. "That bothers you," the young witch realized, "more than the fact he turned against You-Know-Who."   
  
"Harper is a good boy," Wraith said, a touch of fondness in her voice, "Loyal, unlike Ethan here. What Vaisey did broke his heart. I want justice for Harper as much as for my Lord."   
  
The confusion and mistrust was clear in Hermione's eyes.   
  
"Vaisey isn't helping you because he believes in your cause," Wraith told her. "He's doing it out of revenge."   
  
"You killed his uncle," Hermione reminded her.   
  
"His uncle was a traitor," Wraith said without a trace of pity, "just like him. Of course I killed him: That is what I  _do_! I kill those who proclaim loyalty to the Dark Lord and then turn against him! And you will not stop me from fulfilling my purpose," she said harshly.   
  
She turned, reaching for Vaisey's arm, but she froze when she heard the gun go off behind her. When no pain came, she lifted her eyes to the space of wall above her head. The witch had missed––but not by much.   
  
Wraith straightened once more, new respect in her broken eyes. Hermione still held the gun, not shaking as badly as she had been.   
  
"Want to try again?" Wraith asked softly, eyes wide and her tone mocking.   
  
Hermione's mouth tightened and she looked slightly green, but she did not falter. "Step away from him," she ordered firmly.   
  
"No," Wraith replied simply, turning to face her again.   
  
Hermione opened her mouth to repeat the order, but then her jaw dropped in shock.   
  
Wraith blinked at her in surprised and then realized that the witch wasn't actually staring at her. Glancing down, Wraith saw that the golden locket had slipped free of her dress and glittered dimly against the white cloth. She'd almost forgotten she'd put in on before she'd left the Manor. Bringing her eyes back to Hermione's face, Wraith thought to take advantage of the witch's shock.   
  
She moved quickly, knelt down and grabbed Vaisey's arm. Before Hermione realized she'd moved, both she and Vaisey were gone without a trace.   
  
For a moment, Hermione stared at the empty space where they'd been. Vaisey's blood still stained the floor.   
  
The gun fell from her hands to the floor with a clatter. Hermione turned on the spot, Apparating at once to the designated rendezvous.   
  
The surrounding forest was dark and foreboding and Hermione was very glad to see several wands just ahead of her illuminating the space under a large twisted tree. She hurried to them, her full attention on Harry and Ron.   
  
"Hermione, are you okay?" Ron asked swiftly, reaching out to touch Hermione's shoulder.   
  
"I'm fine," she replied, "I'm okay, but I have bad news."   
  
"What happened? Where's Vaisey?"   
  
"She got him," Hermione said wearily. "She got away." With a heavy sigh, she added, "But that's not the bad news." She looked to Harry desolately,  
  
"…We have a problem."           
  
  
  
  
Wraith brought herself and Vaisey right to the Manor's doorstep. The boy was barely conscious, but Wraith forced him to stand and walk a step ahead of her. "Not much longer now," she whispered the words to him like a promise.   
  
She'd lost all trace of her bloodlust and was left with a deadened sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. The strange conversation with the Granger girl had put her out of sorts.   
  
Pushing Vaisey into the drawing room, she felt a flicker of unwanted pity for the boy, as there was an audience waiting there for him.   
  
The Dark Lord was seated before the fireplace and he smiled darkly to see his Wraith return in success. "My pet," he murmured, "bring the boy here."   
  
Wraith placed her hand on Vaisey's back and shoved him so that he fell to the Dark Lord's feet. Voldemort took note of the heavy amount of blood flowing from the boy's shoulder and the livid burns on his hand and wrist. Meeting his Wraith's eyes, he saw her nod just slightly, admitting silently that the wounds had been her doing. "I returned his bullet to him," she said simply.   
  
Vaisey seemed to waken slightly and recognize his surroundings. Wraith snapped her fingers and ropes appeared around Vaisey's wrists, binding his arms behind his back. He yelped in pain as the ropes dug into the burns on his wrist. Looking around frantically, Vaisey's eyes fell on someone behind Wraith. "Tony," he said desperately, "Tony, don't let them do this! Don't let her kill me!"   
  
With a heavy heart, Wraith turned slightly to see Harper standing among the rest of the Death Eaters. As she looked at him, she saw his face harden and he turned his head away from where his friend knelt on the floor.   
  
"Ethan Vaisey," the Dark Lord said. Vaisey turned his head, fear blooming on his blood-spattered face. "You now face the consequences that come from betraying Lord Voldemort. You, boy, are a traitor and will die a traitor's death."   
  
Voldemort's voice was soft, barely a whisper, and terrifying. Even Wraith felt a shiver of fear coursed under her skin. Steeling herself, she moved to stand to the side of the Dark Lord's throne-like chair and stared down at Vaisey, her face a mask.   
  
Meeting her Lord's eyes briefly, she read his silent order. She stepped forward, reaching a hand out towards the cowering boy. Again, she was struck by how young Vaisey really was. She closed her eyes at the fresh surge of pity she felt.   
  
Cursing silently, she knelt before him and touched her outstretched hand to his chin, rather than his heart. Pulling him closer, she whispered in his ear, "If it makes you feel any better, I take no joy in what I do. I felt no pleasure when I took your uncle's life. I follow orders. It's all I can do."   
  
Moving back, she let her hand fall from his face to his heart. Their eyes met and locked for a long and horrible moment. There were tears in Vaisey's eyes, whether from fear or pain Wraith did not know. She did not want to know what Vaisey could read in hers.   
  
"Wait."   
  
Wraith immediately stopped, apprehensive relief flooding her. She glanced over her shoulder at her Lord as she stood up. "My Lord?" she said questioningly.   
  
"We're not going to kill him just yet," the Dark Lord said as he smiled slowly. "I have a better idea."


	74. Light in the Void

_"Remember that a candle in the dark is brighter than the sun."_  
  
  
  
  
Voldemort stood, gesturing to one of the gathered Death Eaters. "Yaxley, bring the boy."   
  
The man stepped away from his fellows and grabbed Vaisey by the ropes around the boy's wrists. Wraith hesitated only a moment, glancing at Harper, before she followed them quickly into the hall.   
  
"You need not be present, my pet," Voldemort told her as she caught up with him.   
  
"My Lord, I must speak with you," she said, her voice low.   
  
The Dark Lord paused in his step as he turned to look at her. Seeing that she was serious, he continued walking but gestured for her to keep up. "Speak then, my Wraith."   
  
Wraith bit the inside of her cheek, drawing a touch of blood. "You're going to be very upset with me," she told him simply.   
  
"And why is that?"   
  
"I met Harry Potter tonight."   
  
Voldemort came to an abrupt halt.   
  
Wraith winced. "Please forgive me, my Lord," she said softly, "I missed my chance at capturing him."   
  
The Dark Lord did not move or speak for a long moment. Yaxley, several steps behind them, wondered just what the girl had said. Finally, Voldemort closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Another chance will come," he told her, his voice very controlled. "This would be the first sighting of him in months, my pet, not at all a bad thing."   
  
"My Lord, what's to be done with Vaisey?" Wraith asked carefully.   
  
"You will see."   
  
  
  
  
Janesch arrived at the Manor to find Wraith sitting on the front steps, waiting for him. Her raven hair glittered with a few flakes of snow and her eyes seemed over-bright.   
  
"Little ghost," the vampire said in greeting, a smile softening his face. When Wraith simply nodded to him silently, he felt a flash of concern. Kneeling on the step below her, he met her eyes. "Little ghost, you're looking rather haunted."   
  
The slightest smile cracked the mask that was her face. "That's a good way of putting it," she said with false cheer.   
  
"What has happened?"   
  
"I was sent to find Vaisey," she explained, "and I found him."   
  
"Does he live?"   
  
"Yes," Wraith said, "but it would have been kinder to let me kill him." She climbed to her feet, moving slowly as if pained. "Walk with me?"   
  
"Through Hell and back,  _ma petite_ , you've only to ask."   
  
Janesch took her arm and looped it through his. Wraith led the way, walking in a wide circle around the Manor grounds. The night was quiet, muted by the gently falling snow. When they came around the far side of the building, Wraith paused, staring at it through the darkness. She moved towards it like one possessed.   
  
There was a low wide stone terrace, covered almost completely with snow. Wraith walked up the shallow steps, crossing to the tall windows that lined the terrace. With the room inside completely black, the windows acted like mirrors, reflecting her pale form. Janesch stood beside her, waiting silently, patiently.   
  
"The Dark Lord is placing Vaisey under the Imperious Curse," Wraith said at last, her voice barely audible. "He'll send the boy out to find the last of the rebellion his uncle joined." Janesch felt her shiver. "With Vaisey under our control and the information Rafe just brought us the Dark Lord believes he is close to quelling the last of them."   
  
Janesch blinked at her reflection. "What information did Rafe bring you?" he asked.   
  
"I'm surprised he didn't mention it to you," Wraith said lightly, "seeing as I was sitting in the Dark Lord's lap when he came into the room to tell us."   
  
Janesch attempted to smile, but her voice held none of the self-conscious pleasure it usually did when she spoke of her closeness to her Lord. She just sounded––tired. "But what did he have to tell you?"   
  
There was a spasm of something akin to pain across Wraith's face and she turned away from him, pulling her arm free. "She had a son, Janesch," she all but whispered, "Katherine Talbot."   
  
Janesch said nothing. His usually glib tongue failed him.   
  
"Rafe scented him out––He was close to where his mother had been captured. Rafe thinks that he was looking for her." Wraith walked to the edge of the terrace, resting her arms on the stone railing. "He's thirteen," she added, "just a boy." She paused, looking out over the snow. "I don't know how to feel about that," she confessed.   
  
Uncertainty clouded her voice and made her sound years younger than she was.   
  
"I can still see her, Jan, and I don't know why her death bothers me more than any of the others. She was a traitor to the Dark Lord, just like the rest. Just like Vaisey. But she haunts me."   
  
"Your Lord did not order her death," Janesch told her. "With everyone else––for every life you've taken––you were following orders. With Katherine Talbot you don't have that to hide behind."   
  
His words were blunt and cut through her confusion like a knife. She turned her face away from him, closing her eyes.  
  
"I hate what I am."   
  
Janesch was unsure if he had heard her correctly, the words had been spoken so softly. Carefully, the vampire stood behind her and wrapped his arms over her. She leaned back into his embrace and said nothing more. The silence of the night took them and sheltered them.   
  
"Harper was here tonight," Wraith said, breaking the silence. "The Dark Lord called him back from Hogsmeade to bear witness. I think he meant it as a warning."   
  
Janesch whispered something in French that Wraith was fairly certain was uncomplimentary. "Is he alright?" the vampire asked.   
  
"I don't know," Wraith replied sadly, "He left as soon as he was allowed. I didn't speak a word to him. I didn't get the chance."   
  
Janesch wondered silently if he would be overstepping a line if he went looking for the boy.   
  
"I wish Vaisey was dead," Wraith whispered harshly. "I wish I had killed him before the Dark Lord could stop me."   
  
" _Ma petite_ , do you really mean that?"   
  
"I do," she said firmly, "At least then it would be over."   
  
"And you wouldn't have to think about him anymore."   
  
"Exactly," Wraith said, glad that he'd understood. "Then he'd just be one more face among the rest. But no, he lives and suffers knowing he'll be the tool that the Dark Lord uses against his allies."   
  
"You do so hate suffering, little ghost," Janesch said, placing a light kiss on the top of her head.   
  
"There was this moment," Wraith said, her voice dropping again, "that I looked into Vaisey's eyes and wished to God I had never left Azkaban."   
  
Her confession bled into a thick and horrible silence. It was broken by Wraith's weak, almost manic, laughter. Janesch felt her shaking in his arms.   
  
"I'm going mad," Wraith declared breathlessly. "I must be. Oh, Janesch, I feel so  _tired_."   
  
Her voice broke on the last word and her legs gave out beneath her. Only Janesch's strong arms kept her from falling.   
  
"Every night––every damned night––I hear those whispers and I  _hate_  them so! I can't escape them–– They follow me every waking hour and when I sleep they come in my dreams––!"   
  
" _Ma petite, ma petite_ , you must stop this!" Janesch whispered urgently, holding her tighter, "Breath deep, my love. Calm yourself."   
  
Wraith took a shuddering breath and then pushed herself away from him. She crossed back to the blackened windows, pressing her palms against the ice-glazed glass. Janesch followed quietly, carefully.   
  
"This used to be a ballroom," Wraith told him almost conversationally. "I've never gone in. I've never dared."   
  
"Little ghost––"   
  
"This is my home Janesch and I'm terrified of it. I've barely ventured past my bedroom." She gave another manic little laugh, pressing her forehead to the window.   
  
" _Wraith_ , look at me," Janesch told her, taking her face in his hands.   
  
She looked up at him, eyes wide and glazed. Grabbing his wrists with unnatural strength, she whispered urgently, "I feel like I'm standing on the edge of some great black void. Janesch––you'll stop me from falling, won't you… _won't you_ ….?"   
  
"Oh,  _ma chéri_ ," Janesch whispered softly.   
  
But before he could say anything more, something behind him drew her eyes away. She stepped back from him, pressing her hand against the window to steady herself, blinking as if she had just woken from a deep sleep.   
  
"Severus."   
  
Janesch turned sharply, his eyes narrowing.   
  
Snape stood at the edge of the terrace, his sallow face unreadable. As they both stared at him, he nodded his head to them. "Lady Wraith," he said, his black eyes focusing solely on her, "are you well?"   
  
She laughed again, on the edge of hysterical, but the laugh became a cough that she hid behind her hand. "Stupid, stupid question," she said, speaking more to herself than to him. "Did you need something?" she asked him, a little sharp.   
  
It did not escape Snape's notice that she was trembling. "Not particularly," he said. "I was merely curious as to where you had gone. Vaisey has been sent off," he added as if he knew it would mean something to her.   
  
"Ah," the word was little more than a sigh. Wraith pushed away from the window and gripped Janesch's arm. They started past Snape, but he wasn't yet finished.   
  
"It will be interesting if he stumbles across the Talbot boy, don't you think?"   
  
Wraith froze, her hold on Janesch's arm tightening. After a moment, she slowly turned her head to look at Snape. "Janesch," she said to the vampire without looking away from Snape, "why don't you wait for me at the front entrance?"   
  
Janesch did not move. " _Ma chéri_ ––"   
  
"Janesch, please."   
  
With a heavy sigh, Janesch leaned down to kiss her temple before he stepped away. "As you wish, little ghost."   
  
It wasn't until he had disappeared around the side of the building that she spoke.   
  
"Why?" she whispered roughly. "Tell me why you haven't told the Dark Lord that  _I_  killed her."   
  
Snape seemed slightly taken aback by the severe question. "What does it matter that you killed her?" he asked in return. "She was a dead woman from the moment Rafe and his wolves captured her." He raised a disbelieving eyebrow at her. "Does it matter to  _you_  that you killed her?"   
  
Wraith stared at him blankly for a moment. "…God, you are a thoroughly unlikeable man."   
  
Snape's other brow rose to join the other.   
  
A soft giggle bubbled to Wraith's lips and she quickly covered them with her hand, finally dropping her eyes from Snape's. "Never mind," she said swiftly, putting her hands up in a gesture of surrender. "As you say––what does it matter?" She turned on her heel and strode away from him as fast as her feet could carry her.   
  
Snape watched her go, leaning one hand upon the stone railing.   
  
 _"You'll stop me from falling, won't you…won't you?"_


	75. Frayed at the Edges

_"Sanity calms, but madness is more interesting."_  
  
  
  
  
A great distance seemed to spring between Wraith and the rest of the world. Not even the Dark Lord saw her often in the weeks that followed Vaisey's capture. But Voldemort made no comment on her withdrawal and did not actively seek her out either.   
  
The most common reason most could think of was the Wraith had been weakened and was recovering in seclusion. Voldemort gave credence to that rumor, believing it safer than whatever the truth was. Though what the truth was…Not even he was sure. In his mind, the Dark Lord wondered if she still feared his anger for letting Harry Potter escape…or perhaps it had to do with what had passed between them that morning.   
  
The Dark Lord scowled to think of it as he paced in his tower, remembering how he had pushed her away. Had it been then that she had chosen to distance herself? Was her pride piqued at his rejection of her? Was this distance some pitiful attempt to punish him?   
  
Even as the thought occurred to him, he felt her presence just outside his door. Voldemort stopped to look at the door as she knocked softly. Had his thoughts somehow summoned her? "Enter," he called, though his voice held no invitation.   
  
As she passed through the door, the Dark Lord saw her throw a fearful glance over her shoulder before she swiftly closed the door behind her. She lifted her eyes to his only briefly before dropping them again.   
  
"My Lord," she murmured, "do you mind the intrusion?"   
  
He did not answer right away. "I suppose it depends on the reason for it," he replied at last.   
  
Wraith favored him with a very feeble smile. "Suppose I don't have a reason?"   
  
"You always have a reason."   
  
The smile wilted and she turned away from him. "I'll go," she whispered, reaching for the door.   
  
"Did I give you permission to leave?" Voldemort snapped out.   
  
Without looking at him, she laughed weakly. Voldemort was almost certain that the laugh had hidden a sob. "You are a hard man to read, my Lord," Wraith told him, turning back. She smiled a little easier as she watched him sit in his chair near the fire and gesture her closer. Slowly, she crossed the room and came around the desk.   
  
In the light of the fire, the Dark Lord examined her more carefully. What he saw did not please him. She was visibly thinner than she'd been in weeks and the shadows under her eyes were deeper. There was also an air around her, frayed and nervous.   
  
"Sit down," he commanded, his voice unusually soft.   
  
Wraith settled at his feet, but remained out of his reach. She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, staring intently into the fire as if it held some secret for her.   
  
"Are you angry with me?"   
  
"Why do you ask?"   
  
"You seem annoyed," she replied lightly, never taking her eyes from the fire. "I just wondered if it was directed at me."   
  
"Perhaps it is," he told her, "just a little. You've been very distant, my Wraith. I wonder why."   
  
Wraith closed her eyes a moment before she answered softly, "I've just been…tired. I haven't had the energy to deal with people."   
  
"Would you mind explaining that last,  _pet_?"   
  
The barest hint of a smile appeared. "Before my fellow Death Eaters I must always wear a mask," she said, "I must always keep their respect…and their fear." She sighed and rested her cheek upon her knees. "It's a little taxing, that's all. I haven't felt like dealing with it."   
  
"What of the distance between  _us_ , my pet?" Voldemort said, his voice low, "Even now, you sit beyond my reach."   
  
"You think I don't wear a mask for you, my Lord?" she retorted, lifting her eyes to his at last.   
  
Voldemort's eyes narrowed slightly and never moved away from hers. "And what do you hide behind that mask?"   
  
"All sorts of things," Wraith whispered impishly, "And it must drive you to distraction that you cannot just reach inside my head to find them."   
  
The Dark Lord scowled at her. "Did you come here just to test my patience, pet?"   
  
Her slight smile twisted. "Don't I always?"   
  
Voldemort sat back in his chair and sighed impatiently. At least the girl was sounding more like herself, frustrating as she was.   
  
"Would…would it bother you greatly if I invited Janesch over tonight?" she asked him.   
  
Voldemort blinked at her. "Since when do you bother to ask permission of me?"   
  
"I think I've tested your patience enough tonight," she replied evenly.   
  
The Dark Lord tilted his head to one side as he considered her. "And what would you do if I said no?"   
  
"I'd be very disappointed and then I would ask again tomorrow," she told him. "Are you saying no?" she asked, her voice shaking just slightly.   
  
It took a moment for the Dark Lord to decide upon his answer. "Invite him if you must," he told her. "I've a meeting with Severus shortly and if you are with the vampire then you are not here antagonizing him."   
  
Wraith smiled the first true smile the Dark Lord had seen that evening. "An excellent strategy, my Lord," she said, rising to her feet. She bent in a curtsy and as she straightened, Voldemort caught again that glimpse of weakness in her eyes. "Thank you," she told him softly before she crossed to the door.   
  
"Wraith."   
  
She paused, her hand upon the door, and glanced back at him. The Dark Lord was standing behind his desk and he gestured her back. He saw the flash of confusion and slight apprehension clearly in her face as she crossed the room back to him.   
  
Coming around the desk to her, Voldemort touched a hand to her cheek. With a sigh, Wraith leaned into his touch with a grateful air, bringing a hand up to touch his arm.   
  
"When Severus and the vampire are gone, I want you back here," he told her firmly, "Do you understand?"   
  
"Yes, my Lord," she murmured.   
  
He felt the hollowness of her cheek beneath his touch. "My Wraith," he said, "you are still so weak, aren't you?"   
  
"I try not to be, my Lord," she whispered.   
  
  
  
  
Wraith met Janesch at the door and was glad to see his smile greet her. He had a bag slung over his shoulder, but Wraith barely took notice. Like the Dark Lord, Janesch too saw the obvious signs of weakness. "Oh,  _ma petite_ ," he murmured, frowning at her.   
  
"Come on," she told him, taking his hand and pulling him along.   
  
It wasn't until they had reached her tower that she released his hand. All along the way, Janesch felt her trembling, and saw the way her eyes darted from side to side as if she watched for some unknown threat. Behind the closed door of her tower, she breathed only a little easier.   
  
Staring at her with a mixture of sweet concern and pity, Janesch dropped the bag to the floor, closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around her. It took Wraith only a moment to return the embrace and she held him as tightly as he held her. Burying her face in his shoulder, she allowed a few tears to escape her tired eyes. She shook terribly in his arms, as if at any moment she would break apart.   
  
"Has it gotten so bad, little ghost?" Janesch asked in a murmur.   
  
"I'm afraid to leave my tower," she whispered back, clinging to him all the tighter. "Those eyes never leave me––but isn't so bad here. It's as if they stay there at the threshold. I feel safer here, if only a little."   
  
"How have you been sleeping?" he asked.   
  
Wraith laughed bitterly. "Infrequently," she replied. Gently, she pulled away from him and crossed the room to her bed. Sitting on the edge of it, she smiled weakly. "I'm exhausted, Jan."   
  
"Why haven't you told your Lord what's happening to you?"   
  
"I have," she said simply. "He tells me that I've nothing to fear here." She shrugged. "I wish that I believed him."   
  
Janesch saw the tears in her eyes before they fell. He knelt on the ground before her and gently took her face in his hands. As he looked at her, he realized something.   
  
"You're not afraid to be touched,  _ma chéri_."   
  
"Wouldn't say that," she said softly, "but I trust you. You would never hurt me."   
  
The simple declaration made Janesch smile. He leaned forward and kissed one cheek and then the other, kissing the tears away. On a breath's hesitation, he then pressed his lips lightly to hers.   
  
"Little ghost," he murmured fondly, " _Mon ami_." His smile brightened as he stood and crossed back to where he had dropped the bag. "I have a surprise for you," he told her, "A little something to take your mind from your troubles."   
  
He moved towards the fireplace and with his back to her, Wraith could not see what he was doing. After a moment, he stood aside and Wraith blinked at the table.   
  
"What is that?" she asked incredulously, venturing closer.   
  
"Chess,  _ma petite_ ," Janesch told her. "I'm going to teach you to play. Now," he added, sitting in one of the chairs and scooting it closer to the table, "we'll be playing regular chess. I cannot abide Wizard's Chess, with all the pieces moving about on their own and shouting obscenities at the players. Bah. This version is much better––more relaxing by far." He gestured towards the other chair. "Sit,  _ma petite_. I think you will enjoy this."   
  
Wraith reached out to touch one carved black piece upon the board. A slight smile came to her face.   
  
"Okay," she said at last, sitting down across from him.  
  
The hour was late when Janesch finally took his leave, but by the time he did he had coaxed several smiles and even a few laughs from his fragile friend. She had picked up the basic rules of the game rather well, he reflected as she walked him down to the doors, but there was still much to teach her about strategy.   
  
Pleased with having a new distraction, Wraith started back to her room with less fear than before. It wasn't long before she regretted it.  
  
  
  
  
Snape left the Dark Lord's tower shortly after Janesch and Wraith had said their goodbyes. He winced as he felt the headache brewing behind his eyes. Lord Voldemort had been in a dark mood and it did not take Legilimency to realize it had to do with his Wraith. Snape felt rather fortunate that he was still intact after the meeting, judging by the ire in the Dark Lord's voice when he spoke.   
  
It was just as well that he had little to report. Things had gone back to being too quiet within the village of Hogsmeade, beyond the fact that many had abandoned the village entirely. It would soon be as Hogwarts––nothing left but those that had nowhere else to go––   
  
Snape's train of thought was sudden derailed as he heard a soft frightened gasp from around the corner. The gasp became a whimper as he hurried his step to see. Peering around the corner, he was unsurprised to see the Wraith standing in the middle of the hallway.   
  
What did surprise him was that she trembled where she stood, her hands pressed tight against the sides of her head. As he watched, she whimpered again and stumbled backwards to press her back against the wall.   
  
"Stop it," she hissed under her breath, hitting clenched fists against her temples. "Stop it, stop it,  _stop it_! Leave me  _alone_!"   
  
Snape stiffened, inhaling sharply. Had he heard the softest whisper in the air around the girl...or was her paranoia infecting him?   
  
He moved cautiously towards her, one hand outstretched. He was very aware of the sparks of raw power emanating from her in her fear. Finally, he grew close enough to touch her shoulder gingerly. He started to speak her name as he reached, but at his slight touch, Wraith shrieked, her eyes flying open. She shoved away from him before she had truly registered who he was. It might have been funny––if she wasn't so obviously terrified.   
  
Snape stayed very still as her eyes slowly focused on him. "Wraith?"   
  
She blinked rapidly, her eyes suddenly clearing. "Severus," she murmured his name as if she was reminding herself who he was.   
  
"Lady Wraith, are you alright?"   
  
"Not in the slightest," she replied. Her eyes scanned the hall where they stood, combing through the shadows for an unseen threat.   
  
Snape hesitated and then stepped forward. Wraith's eyes snapped back to him, but he held up his hands in a gesture of peace. "May I escort you back to your tower?"   
  
A sharp refusal formed on her tongue, but she held it back, her resolve wavering. Swallowing her pride, she nodded stiffly.   
  
Wraith fell into step beside him, not touching him, but still in his shadow. It was as if she used him as a shield. As they reached the stairs of the tower, Snape held out a hand to stop her. She paused, rather unwillingly.   
  
"Does the Dark Lord know––?"   
  
"That his Wraith is hearing voices?" Wraith suggested dryly. "Yes. He knows."   
  
The bitterness in her voice did not go unnoticed.   
  
"Is that what it was?" Snape asked, "Hearing voices?"   
  
"You know, Severus, I don't really feel like sharing, grateful as I am for your assistance."   
  
The dismissal was clear, but Snape still did not take his leave.   
  
"You are a dangerous creature sane, Lady Wraith," he said derisively, "I'd hate to think of what would happen if you lost even that."   
  
Slowly, Wraith lifted her eyes to his. He did not like what he saw in them.   
  
"What on earth is in your head," Wraith murmured, "that you would think to call  _me_  sane?"   
  
Snape considered her with a callous eye. "Perhaps you've not all of your sanity, Lady Wraith," he told her, "but neither are you mad. You've your wits about you still. I can tell that much."   
  
Wraith smirked at him. "That's…strangely reassuring...coming from you," she said. "Thank you, Severus."   
  
"At your service…my Lady."   
  
Wraith sneered at that, but the last of the fear had finally left her eyes as she turned and started up the tower steps. Snape watched her go, waiting until he heard her door open and close before he too turned and walked away.


	76. Of Queens & Pawns

_"Where so many hours have been spent in convincing myself that I am right, is there not some reason to fear I may be wrong?"_  
  
  
  
  
Wraith spent only a few minutes collecting herself before she started back down the stairs. The Dark Lord had ordered her to return to his tower once Snape was gone and she did not want to keep him waiting.   
  
But as she neared the bottom of the staircase, she felt his presence approaching her. She stopped on the last step and leaned against the wall. It was only a moment before Voldemort came into sight.   
  
"My Lord," Wraith said in greeting, "I was just coming to see you."   
  
"So I supposed," the Dark Lord said dryly. He frowned as he considered her. "Severus stopped by my tower again before he took his leave."   
  
Wraith's eyes widened and then narrowed dangerously before she turned them away. "Ah, tattled on me, did he?"   
  
"He said you were unwell," Voldemort said, "He did not speak in detail."   
  
 _But you'll have seen it in his mind_ , Wraith thought resentfully. She felt a quiver of fear along her spine like ice and she fought not to turn and run up the stairs.   
  
Voldemort crossed the distance between them, reaching a hand out to touch her.   
  
But Wraith stepped backwards up a step out of his reach. Voldemort's eyes flashed with ire, but Wraith seemed to pay no heed to it. She turned and started back up the stairs. Pausing before she was out of sight, she glanced back over her shoulder, first scanning the hall quickly and then meeting her Lord's aggravated gaze.   
  
"I'd rather not discuss this in the hall," she told him softly but firmly.   
  
She waited until Voldemort slowly ascended to meet her and together they returned to her tower room. Once inside, Wraith quickly shut the door behind them, taking a moment to steady herself. The Dark Lord sat in the chair by the fire without looking back at her.   
  
As Wraith crossed the room to him, he gestured to the chess board still in place on the table. "What is this?" he demanded.   
  
"Janesch has been teaching me chess," she explained, standing beside the table. "I think I rather like it."   
  
Voldemort sneered just slightly. Goaded by it, Wraith's eyes narrowed.   
  
She leaned her hip against the table and ran her fingertip across the chess board. "He made an…interesting chess analogy." She looked at Voldemort, smiling just slightly, "He told me that if I were any piece on the board, I was the queen. The piece that you can move in any direction you wish; the one that the others fear most."   
  
Voldemort studied her, glancing at the board and the simple black and white figures upon it. "And what does that make me?" he asked, "The king? The piece that hides behind the others?"   
  
There was more than a touch of insult to his tone. Wraith raised an eyebrow, unperturbed.   
  
"Of course not, my Lord," she said, circling his chair. She leaned around it, her face close to his and she offered her hand palm up. She twisted it and the black queen appeared. "You're the player."   
  
Voldemort smirked with a satisfied air. He took the chess piece from her palm and twisted it in his fingers.   
  
Wraith allowed herself a smile as well as she stood at the table once more. "While we're still speaking of chess, my Lord, may I ask you a question?"   
  
Voldemort gestured for her to continue.   
  
"A queen may face a queen," she said slowly, fingering the white queen. "Why don't you send me after theirs?"   
  
"McGonagall?"   
  
"You're thinking in sexes, my Lord. Who is the piece who moves where the others can't?" She picked up the white queen. "Who is the most dangerous?"   
  
"Potter."   
  
"You can send me to track him down, to kill him." She moved over to his chair again and he allowed her to sit on the arm. "You know he wouldn't be able to circumvent me."   
  
Voldemort considered her, letting a hand drift to circle her waist. "Tempting," he told her.   
  
"Tempting," she repeated, "But?"   
  
He squeezed her waist gently, drawing her a little closer, but his eyes were on the black queen in his other hand. "I must be the one to kill him."   
  
"I could still track him for you."   
  
"Not yet," Voldemort told her, running his hand up and down her back absently. "I may very well send you, but not just yet. There is something I must find before that last battle."  
  
Wraith sighed deeply and stood, pulling free of his hold. Moving to stand by the fire, she sent a sudden nervous glance towards the door. Voldemort watched as she drew a shaking hand through her long hair.   
  
"What is wrong with you?" he demanded to know.   
  
Wraith heard the contempt in the question and bristled in reaction to it. "I've already told you," she reminded him sharply. Her temper flared dangerously at the disdain that was clear in his eyes. She scowled and began to pace the length of the room. "And I have resisted the urge to repeat myself because I am  _tired_  of hearing from you that it's nothing! That I'm only sensitive to the magicks of this bloody Manor! That I've nothing to  _fear_!"   
  
The last word was spoken with such hostility, such rage that it threw Voldemort into a state of speechlessness. His eyes followed her as she paced, but no words came.   
  
Wraith stopped her pacing and stared at him, breathing deeply in the wake of her outburst. She fell back against the wall. "But I  _am_  afraid," she whispered. She slid down the wall to the floor, hugging herself tightly across the chest. "I'm afraid."   
  
" _Enough_ ," Voldemort hissed.   
  
He stood and swiftly crossed to her, reaching down to grab her by the arm and pull her roughly to her feet. He brought her face closer to his, with her vainly trying to pull free of him.   
  
"One of your blood should not be cowering in the face of a ghost and a few whispers in your ears," he told her ruthlessly. "Have you no pride at all in what you are?"   
  
"And what am I?" she demanded of him. "You've never truly told me!"   
  
"You disgrace yourself with this irrational fear!"   
  
"Because of course  _my Lord_  fears nothing," Wraith retorted scathingly, finally breaking free of him. With a soft hiss, she turned her back on him. "Don't tell me that this is nothing," she whispered harshly, "Not when this is killing me."   
  
Voldemort grabbed her by the shoulder and spun her around, pushing her against the wall. But all of the fight had gone out of her. She simply looked up at him with pure apathy.   
  
The Dark Lord's eyes burned with fury, but he stroked an almost gentle hand down her cheek. "My little queen," he murmured, "You are my killing hand––my Lady Death––You had best rise above this paranoia…or else I will have little use for you. You have served me well––do  _not_ think to fail me now."   
  
Wraith closed her eyes, took a breath, and then opened them again.   
  
"I would die before I ever let myself fail you," she told him slowly, "…my Lord."   
  
"Good girl," Voldemort whispered. He turned on his heel and strode to the door.  
  
"My Lord," Wraith called.   
  
Voldemort stopped at the threshold to look back at her.   
  
Wraith stepped away from the wall, her hands clasped behind her back.   
  
"One other thing that I have learned with playing chess…is that a queen may be sacrificed as quickly as a pawn…should the necessity arise." She tilted her head a little to the side, her eyes never leaving his. "…I'll remember that."   
  
"As well you should," he told her.   
  
The door slammed shut behind him and then there was only silence.   
  
  
  
  
Wraith did not leave her tower for three days after that. When the Dark Lord ventured to her room, he found her door locked to him. He only attempted it twice before his patience failed him and he left his Wraith to her brooding.   
  
But at the end of the third day, Wraith felt the mark upon her arm burn. That she could not ignore.   
  
Knowing her Lord, she dressed in white, her mask at her belt as she entered the drawing room.   
  
Voldemort stood at the fire and Wraith saw the flash of satisfaction in his eyes when he saw her white gown. "My Wraith," the Dark Lord said, gesturing her closer.   
  
She paid no heed to the two Death Eaters present as she joined her Lord before the fireplace. "My Lord," she replied softly. She bent in a curtsy, her pale skirts a fan around her. With her dark hair unbound, she was a strange and pretty sight. As she straightened, she smiled a little. "You have a task for me?" she asked, the slightest touch of hope in her voice.   
  
"I do," he said. "I have need of a messenger tonight." He glanced at the two men. "Yaxley, Rabastan." They stepped forward. "You and my Wraith will go to Gringotts. There is a goblin there by the name of Garnott who has been…uncooperative. Wraith, Rabastan knows the details; allow him to take point on this."   
  
"Ah. I am to be there as a silent warning, am I? A not-so-subtle reminder of what you command?"   
  
"Precisely," the Dark Lord said with a singular nod. He gestured a dismissal and both Yaxley and Rabastan moved to the door.   
  
Wraith remained where she was, her eyes on Voldemort. "Thank you, my Lord, for this task," she whispered.   
  
Voldemort touched a hand to her cheek, smiling just slightly. For a moment, Wraith thought he would lean down to kiss her as he had done in the past. But the moment passed and he dropped his hand. "I only thought to occupy your mind with more important things," he said dismissively.   
  
"Thus why you are my Lord," she told him. "And why I am your Wraith," she added softly as she turned.   
  
  
  
  
Wraith walked alongside the two men down the path from the Manor. Rabastan moved with ease beside her, but Yaxley was quite obviously on edge. Wraith favored him with a bitter sort of smile.   
  
"You've a good memory, don't you Yaxley?"   
  
"Yes…my Lady," Yaxley replied stiffly. "I do."   
  
"Then I would advise you to be better than the pompous prat you usually are." She looked at him from the corner of her eye. "I would hate to lose patience with you."   
  
Rabastan chuckled darkly, clearly recalling that first meeting as well. To Wraith's surprise, he offered his arm to her in a gentlemanly fashion. She gave him an arched look, but gingerly placed her hand upon the offered arm.   
  
"One day, I would very much like the opportunity to speak to you alone, my Lady," Rabastan said in an undertone.   
  
"You are a fool to think it would ever happen, Lestrange," Wraith replied cuttingly.   
  
Rabastan smirked, not in the least discouraged.


	77. Merciful Death

_"Regret for the things we did can be tempered by time; it is regret for the things we did not do that is inconsolable."_  
  
  
  
Once beyond the boundaries of the Manor, Wraith paused to place her mask over her face and draw up the hood of her cloak. Rabastan raised an eyebrow, but did not speak. Yaxley, on the other hand, couldn't seem to stop himself.   
  
"Er––my Lady––?" The word seemed to stick in his craw.   
  
"The Dark Lord wishes me to be a silent threat, Yaxley," Wraith reminded him. "A certain amount of…ambiguity will not go amiss for our task tonight."   
  
Indeed, beneath the black of her cloak, the white gown and mask made the girl seem almost a ghost.   
  
Once more, Rabastan offered his arm as they Disapparated. They arrived just outside the Leaky Cauldron, the street around completely deserted. Wraith glanced between the two men before she took point, entering the unassuming little pub.   
  
The white-haired bartender stood behind the bar and his eyes widened at the sight of her in her mask. With a gasp, he ducked down out of sight. Wraith heard Rabastan chuckle darkly a pace behind her, but she found she did not share his amusement.   
  
They slipped through the backdoor to the alley. Yaxley held up his wand, but before he could step around her, Wraith waved a hand over the brick wall. The passage opened itself, leaving Yaxley gaping. Wraith turned her head towards him, her dry look hidden behind her mask. But the man seemed to sense the air of contempt around her and quickly stepped back.   
  
Wraith set a quick pace down Diagon Alley, discomforted by memories of the battle. A passing thought had her wondering where McGonagall and Fred Weasley were just then.   
  
As they hurried down the street, Wraith caught sight of huddle masses in the doorways of shops. It took her a few minutes to realize that they were people, clustered together for warmth. Once she realized this, she resolved to keep her eyes on the street before her until they reached Gringotts.   
  
Just outside the bank, Wraith paused and turned to Rabastan. She gestured silently for him to take the lead, remembering the Dark Lord's instructions. Rabastan bowed his head to her and stepped forward into the bank.   
  
Inside, Wraith found she was glad she had hidden her face behind her mask––That way no would see the way she gaped at the interior of the bank. She had never before entered Gringotts, had only seen it from afar during the battle months before.   
  
"Bogrod," Rabastan called to one of the goblins present.   
  
Wraith saw the old goblin scowl just slightly, but he left his station to answer the Death Eater's call. "Master Lestrange," Bogrod said, nodding his large head first to Rabastan and then to Yaxley, "Master Yaxley."   
  
But then his eyes fell upon Wraith, cloaked and hooded, standing just slightly to the side. Still looking around the bank, Wraith turned when she felt his eyes upon her. When Bogrod clearly saw her mask, he visibly tensed.   
  
Rabastan took note of it and tapped his wand on his arm. "We've been sent to speak with goblin Garnott. Where would he be at this hour?"   
  
"I will…find out," Bogrod said slowly, finally tearing his eyes away from Wraith. He turned and hurried away, disappearing through a short door behind the counter.   
  
Rabastan grinned crookedly and looked to Wraith. "I don't think this will take long, my Lady," he murmured, stepping a little closer under the pretense of not wanting to be overheard.   
  
"Ah, but now that you've said that it will no doubt take hours," she whispered back pertly.   
  
Rabastan blinked and opened his mouth, but no words seemed readily available to him. Behind her mask, Wraith smiled. Yaxley gave Rabastan a look befitting something slimy found beneath a rock.   
  
The three of them turned quickly at the sound of a deafening crash from another room.   
  
" _Absolutely not! I will not be threatened by lapdogs of a would-be lord_!"   
  
Wraith let out a hiss that made both Death Eaters at her side take a step away from her. Focusing on the short door that Bogrod had disappeared through, Wraith lifted a hand and raised her power––and then she  _pulled_  with both. The door crashed open as a short figure was forcefully pulled through it.   
  
The goblin Garnott went skidding painfully across the floor until he reached the three awaiting him. Rabastan gave Wraith a very appreciative look, but she only had eyes for the goblin.   
  
Garnott sat up, wincing, and he froze as Wraith knelt on the floor in front of him. Wraith tilted her head to one side, considering him silently from behind her mask. The goblin regarded her with a considering look as well and Wraith was impressed that there was almost no fear in his eyes.   
  
"Now I see why the Dark Lord sent us," Rabastan said, coming to stand at Wraith's side, scowling down at the goblin. Garnott gave Rabastan a very dirty look indeed and murmured something in Gobbledegook. There was a flash of red light and a deep cut appeared just below Garnott's eye. "You ought to learn to be more polite," Rabastan told him, lowering his wand again.   
  
Wraith slowly stood and moved to the side again, looking around the room as if bored.     
  
Rabastan stood before the goblin, looking down on him. "So you say you will not be threatened by lapdogs, eh? Well, we're not here to threaten you, little friend––We're a warning." He jerked his head in Wraith's direction. "I see that you know precisely who  _she_  is. You know what she is and no doubt you'll have heard what she's capable of."  
  
Garnott said nothing, but he stood and cast his eyes towards Wraith. With a scowl affixed to his face, the goblin looked back to Rabastan. "A warning, are you?" he said bitingly. "Well you can take your warning and––"  
  
His voice was cut off suddenly as Wraith turned her head towards him. Garnott pressed a hand to his chest, spindly fingers clutching at his shirt as his heart gave a painful lurch. But just as quickly as the pain had come, it was gone. Garnott slowly turned his head to look at Wraith. He could not find her eyes behind the mask, but Wraith saw in his a new appreciation.   
  
"Goblin Garnott, you are fast becoming a thorn in the Dark Lord's side," Rabastan said, drawing his attention back, "A very dangerous thing to be indeed."  
  
Yaxley stepped closer and the goblin was boxed between them. "You're to temper that tongue of yours," the man said, a boorish sneer on his face. "And stop your rabblerousing among your fellow goblins. This is the only warning you will receive from the Dark Lord."  
  
"I will  _not_  bow down to your ' _Lord_ '," Garnott snarled. "I recognize no Wizard authority!"   
  
"Then you'll recognize mine," Wraith said softly.  
  
The Death Eaters looked at her, surprised that she had spoken.  
  
Wraith crossed back, wave a hand dismissively to the men, and knelt before the goblin once more. On his feet now, her head was slightly below his.  
  
"I am neither wizard nor witch," Wraith told him, her voice never rising above that whisper. "I am well outside the usual order of things. I recognize but  _one_  master." She reached out a hand, putting it gently beneath his bearded chin. "And you  _will_  recognize  _his_  authority in recognizing mine––if only because I can kill you with a thought."  
  
Wraith touched a fingertip to the still bleeding cut below the goblin's eye, healing it in an instant. The goblin blinked, lifting a hand to the space where the cut had been.  
  
"As Yaxley said," Wraith said, standing, "––This will be your only warning. The next time I am sent––I'll stop your heart and you'll fall like a puppet with its strings cut."   
  
Garnott stared up at her masked face, but still there was only a trace of fear. More than that there was curiosity. And though he could not see it, the curiosity was matched in her eyes as well.   
  
"Proud creature," she murmured, and only Garnott heard her clearly.   
  
The goblin closed his eyes and bowed his head, saying nothing more.  
  
Wraith sensed the deep resentment in the motion––it so closely matched her own.  
  
That realization struck her deeply and she had the sudden urge to flee. She turned to Rabastan. "Will that do?" she demanded swiftly.  
  
Rabastan nodded with an almost shell-shocked expression on his face. "More than sufficient," he replied. "The Dark Lord ought to be very pleased."  
  
Wraith nodded shortly and stepped around the goblin to stalk towards the entrance. The two men followed a step behind her.   
  
But at the threshold, she paused, turning swiftly on her heel. The Death Eaters started, not knowing her purpose.  
  
Wraith glanced around and took in the mess her stunt with the door had made. With a sigh and a snap of her fingers, the dust and debris were vanished quite neatly, the door put back on its hinges.   
  
Satisfied, Wraith left Gringotts in her wake.      
  
  
  
  
Wraith kept a quick pace down Diagon Alley, with Rabastan and Yaxley staying a few steps behind her. It was just as well––She rather wished she was alone. Her eyes were focused upon the ground before her so that she could ignore those sleeping along the side of the street.   
  
But halfway down the street, one huddled figure lurched up and stumbled towards her with a swiftness that caught Wraith by complete surprise.   
  
"Please!" the woman cried out, reaching a hand to grab at Wraith's sleeve. The woman collapsed on the ground at Wraith's feet, clinging to the girl's cloak. Wraith struggled to keep her balance, grasping the woman's wrists to help keep them both upright. "Please," the woman said again, "My children…my children…."   
  
"Release her, you filth!" Rabastan ordered, striding forward with his wand in hand.   
  
Wraith hissed a warning at the man, keeping him back. Hidden behind her mask, she was completely bewildered. It took her a moment to find her voice. "What do you want?" she asked the woman softly.   
  
The woman sobbed up at her, tears running down a worn and dirty face. "My children, please…You're  _her_ , aren't you? The Lady Death? Lady, please–– _have my children met you_?"   
  
Wraith felt a terrible emptiness in her chest. The woman believed the rumors––the ones that claimed she was Death itself.   
  
"…What are their names?" she asked the woman.   
  
The woman took a deep breath to steady herself, "My son Alfred, my daughters Ellie and Maisie…please…"   
  
"They've not met me," Wraith told her softly. "They haven't. And you'll do them no service by getting yourself killed. Now step away and do not fling yourself into Death's path again. Do you understand?"   
  
The woman nodded, releasing her hold of Wraith's cloak. "Yes," she whispered, her eyes wide. "Thank you…thank you, Lady!" The woman backed away hurriedly, disappearing into the shadows of a doorstep.   
  
Wraith closed her eyes a moment and then continued on, never turning her head.   
  
After they had reached the Leaky Cauldron, Rabastan fell into step beside her. "That was almost kind of you," he commented lightly.   
  
"What of it, Lestrange?" she demanded impatiently.   
  
"Nothing, nothing," he said quickly. "It's just that…you are…merciful, aren't you?"   
  
Wraith paused, turning her head slightly towards him. "…Someone ought to be."


	78. Of Broken Glass

_"Humans have a knack for choosing precisely the things that are worst for them."_  
  
  
  
  
Apparating back to the boundary of Slytherin Manor, Wraith hesitated. "You two go on ahead," she said firmly. "I'll catch up."   
  
Rabastan shared a cautious look with Yaxley, not moving.   
  
"My Lady," Rabastan said gently, "I believe the Dark Lord will want to see us all about tonight events."   
  
"And I'm certain I will have ample time to discuss it with him––later."   
  
The slight emphases she put on the last word had Yaxley blanching and he quickly walked up the path to the Manor without another word. Rabastan, however, remained. He gave her a curious look and crossed his arms.   
  
"Are you the Dark Lord's lover?" he asked bluntly. There was an edge of pure curiosity in his voice.   
  
"Rabastan, I can think of many things that are none of your business and that is right at the top of the list."   
  
Wraith turned her back on him and the Manor, reaching up to remove her mask. She breathed a little easier without it. She glanced over her shoulder to see Rabastan still standing there. With a sigh, she turned her eyes away from him and said, just as bluntly, "Rabastan, you will not win my favor. There is not a man in the world that could."   
  
"I remember Gavin," Rabastan said, "speaking of the fact the Dark Lord someday intended to marry you off."   
  
Wraith had stiffened noticeably at Gavin's name, but other than that she did not move. "Gavin had a big mouth," she muttered. Frowning, Wraith finally turned back to him. "…Is that what you're looking to do, Lestrange?  _Marry_  me?" She tilted her head to one side. "You want to outdo your brother in the marriage game, don't you?"   
  
"Dead in the black, my Lady," Rabastan acknowledged with a shrug. "Though admittedly, I do begin to like you."   
  
"No, you don't," Wraith said with a sigh, "You are impressed with my power; that is all." She fell silent, frowning deeply as she thought. "…It may happen," she admitted rather grudgingly. "You are of the most loyal of families; you've generations of pure blood behind you… The Dark Lord may very well choose you for me."   
  
Rabastan smiled just slightly and started to speak, but Wraith held up a hand to silence him.   
  
"But even if it  _does_  happen," she said, "it will not be for years yet. Not until he's done with me." A trace of her bitterness shone through and made Rabastan blink in surprise. "All I'm saying, Rabastan," Wraith continued, "is don't hold your breath… Savvy?"   
  
"As you say, my Lady," Rabastan said, bowing his head a moment. "But if it doesn't bother you…I'll be keeping the option open."   
  
Wraith smirked, amused despite herself. "Careful there, Lestrange," she told him slowly, touching a hand to the dagger at her waist, "You might bite off more than you can chew." She waved a hand to dismiss him. "Back up to the Manor," she said firmly. "I want a moment to myself."   
  
"Yes, my Lady," Rabastan said, bowing more deeply before he turned away.   
  
Wraith watched him go from the corner of her eye. Once he had reached the doors, she turned away from the Manor and walked a distance away.   
  
Even on the border, she felt those eyes upon her. It was if they waited for her to return. She was not eager to step back into their hold. A flash of something akin to pain crossed her face for she knew that she wouldn't be able to put it off forever. The Dark Lord  _would_  want to speak with her and soon. No doubt he would be annoyed that she did not arrive with Yaxley and Rabastan. As well as the night had gone, he might forgive her, but still––   
  
 _"One of your blood should not be cowering in the face of a ghost and a few whispers in your ears. Have you no pride at all in what you are?"_  
  
Wraith felt her spine stiffen as she forced herself to turn back to the Manor.   
  
 _Have I pride? Oh, yes. I have pride in spades. But pride in what I am? No, can't say that I do._  
  
She took a breath, a scowl affixed to her face as she glared up at the foreboding building before her.  _You'll be the death of me_ , she thought almost sadly.   
  
With that disheartened thought, she started up the path, stepping into the realm of that hungry ghost once more.   
  
  
  
  
By the time that Wraith had finally entered the manor, Rabastan and Yaxley were both gone. Gripping her mask almost painfully in her hand, Wraith stepped into the drawing room where the Dark Lord waited, seated near the fireplace.   
  
"You're late, pet."   
  
"I beg your forgiveness, my Lord," she murmured, keeping her eyes downcast. "It will not happen again."   
  
"No," Voldemort said, "it won't. Come here."   
  
Wraith stepped closer and then sat at his feet, placing her mask in her lap. The Dark Lord reached a hand out to touch her hair.   
  
"You've done well tonight, my Wraith," Voldemort told her, "Very well indeed. You've not only quelled Garnott's rebellion, you've likely cowed the entire caste of goblins within Gringotts with your display. I am very impressed with you."   
  
"I thought you might be annoyed," she said, the corner of her mouth twitching as she fought a smile, "Since you wanted me there as a silent threat."   
  
"I'll admit, I did not intend for you to be the main focus. Tell me, what made you step away from my orders?"   
  
"He insulted you," Wraith replied simply. "I corrected him."   
  
The Dark Lord laughed softly, running his hand over her hair. "My Wraith," he said almost fondly. "I had thought to make you my Executioner, my sword against those that betray me, but now…I wonder if I haven't been selfish, keeping your focus within our ranks."   
  
Wraith briefly brought her eyes up, the smallest sense of foreboding overcoming her. "My Lord?"   
  
"I was just thinking that perhaps I should expand your duties," Voldemort said, "You've acted as my messenger a number of times now and you've been quite effective. And you've been so restless of late." He sighed, touching his hand briefly to her cheek. "There is one other thing that Yaxley mentioned," he said, his tone hardening.   
  
"That woman," Wraith guessed, sighing.   
  
"The wandless…the Mudblood," Voldemort corrected, "You should have disposed of her the moment she dared to touch you."   
  
Wraith closed her eyes, turning her head away from him, and did not reply.   
  
"Rabastan called you  _merciful_ ," the Dark Lord said, twisting a lock of her dark hair in his fingers. "Tell me what you told him. I want to hear it from your mouth."   
  
Wraith slowly brought her eyes to his, a flash of temper in them. "I told him…that someone ought to be," she said. "…You're going to rule the Wizarding world," she continued, never taking her eyes from his, "I just wondered if you wouldn't need something more than fear to hold it together under your thumb."   
  
"Oh?"   
  
"I've noticed that people are more intimidated by me when I heal than when I kill," she said. "My  _mercy_  disturbs them. I saw it with the werewolf Rafe…I saw it with McGonagall. And tonight I saw it with Garnott. They don't expect mercy from one of yours––certainly not from your Lady Death," she added, raising an eyebrow. "And the truth is that I  _am_  merciful. I do not see the charm in killing those that cross my path just because they've done so. I never have."   
  
Voldemort considered her, tilting his head to the side. He smiled just slightly, sitting back in his chair. "Go get some rest, my pet," he ordered her. "No doubt I'll think of another task for you before long."   
  
Wraith stood, bowing her head to him. But then she hesitated, frowning a little as she glanced back at his face. He sensed her uncertainty and looked up at her. Then he gestured for her to come closer. Wraith stepped closer and leaned down at his gesture. Voldemort put a hand behind her neck and pulled her down to press his lips firmly to hers.   
  
"You've done well," he murmured, his lips still brushing hers. "I'll forgive your fears if you continue to do so."   
  
"Yes, my Lord," she whispered, pulling back.       
  
  
  
  
Wraith slammed the door closed and locked it behind her, her hand only shaking a little as she did so. She crossed the room, removing her cloak and tossing it on the bed as she passed it.   
  
She still held her mask in one hand as she pressed her forehead to the icy windowpane with a sigh. Looking down at it, her scowl deepened. With a disgusted cry, she flung it across the room. It hit the mirror against the wall and both shattered into pieces. She imagined she could hear the woman's voice in the falling glass.   
  
 _"Please––my children…my children…."_  
  
For several long minutes, Wraith stared at the wreckage before her. Part of her was urged to correct the damage––but still another part of her long to create  _more_. The two parts warred inside of her silently until finally she fell back against the window and slowly slid to the floor.   
  
As she sat, she heard the smallest  _clink_  as the point of the dagger touched the floor. Moving almost numbly, Wraith unclipped the sheath from its belt and held the dagger up before her eyes.   
  
She remembered so clearly the look in Bellatrix's eyes when the woman had flung the dagger towards her. And she remembered almost fondly the expression on Bella's face when she realized she had missed Wraith's heart.   
  
 _I wonder_ , Wraith thought as she pulled the blade free of its sheath,  _I wonder if this really would have killed me if it had hit my heart…_  
  
She pressed a hand to her belly where McGonagall's smaller blade had struck. The pain had been horrible––But she had healed nonetheless.   
  
 _Just how far do my healing abilities go?_  
  
She ran her fingertip along the sharp edge of the blade, hissing slightly as it cut a shallow line in her skin. Holding both her hand and the dagger up, she saw her blood upon the blade––but the cut was already gone without a trace.   
  
Wraith stared at her own blood as if nothing else mattered in the world but that scarlet color sharp against the silver blade.   
  
 _What would it take?_


	79. The Vampire's Gift

_Gather ye rose-buds while ye may,  
Old Time is still a-flying;  
And this same flower that smiles today,  
Tomorrow will be dying.  _  
  
  
  
  
Janesch knocked on her tower door a few days later. Without moving away from the window, she gestured, a spark of power reaching out to open the door. Janesch stood in the doorway a moment, blinking in surprise when he realized she wasn't there at the door.   
  
"Evening, Janesch," she said softly from where she stood.   
  
He turned his eyes to her and smiled brightly. " _Ma petite_ ," he said, crossing the room to her.   
  
Wraith raised an eyebrow at him, for he was hiding a hand behind his back. "What are you up to you?" she asked him suspiciously.   
  
He smiled all the more and pulled his hand from around his hand, presenting her with a small brightly wrapped package. When Wraith frowned at it and at him with confusion, he clarified. "It's Christmas, little ghost," he told her, holding out the gift to her for her to take.   
  
"Oh," Wraith murmured, holding the little gift gently in her hands.   
  
"Open it,  _ma petite_ ," Janesch urged her. "It's a gift for you, silly girl," he added when she hesitated.   
  
Still frowning slightly, Wraith slowly tore the bright paper away. It was a small square box, hinged on one side. On the surface was a painting of piano keys with various musical symbols.   
  
"It's lovely," Wraith said, finally smiling a little.   
  
"Open the lid," Janesch instructed.   
  
Wraith did so and gasped as a soft melody began to play. "It's  _Greensleeves_ ," she realized, her smile widening as she laughed.   
  
"It's your favorite, isn't it?" Janesch asked. "It's a music box,  _ma petite_. I thought you would enjoy it."   
  
Wraith closed her eyes, listening to the music with a soft smile on her face. Janesch felt a quiver of worry, for the smile was rather sad.   
  
"I don't have anything for you," Wraith told him, her smile fading.   
  
"Oh,  _ma petite_ , there is nothing I need," he replied. He leaned forward to kiss her forehead. "It's your first Christmas, isn't it?"   
  
"Yes," Wraith said, gently closing the music box. Her smile gone, she gazed out the window at the snow covered grounds.   
  
"Wraith, tell me what's wrong."   
  
"It's nothing new," she said, trying to dismiss his worry. "I'm only tired."   
  
But Janesch read so much more in that single word. "…A rumor reached the wolves a few days ago," he said slowly, keeping his eyes on her, "Of the Lady Death paying Gringotts a visit to bring a goblin into line."   
  
Wraith sighed and pressed her cheek against the windowpane. "That was nothing," she said coldly. "I was acting as the Dark Lord's messenger. I prefer that to my other duties. No," she whispered, "it was after that left this cold pit in my stomach." She took a breath and told Janesch of the wandless woman who had stopped her in the street and how she had begged Wraith about her children. Janesch listened in silence, terrible saddened by the tale.   
  
"It is a horrid thing," he said once Wraith had finished, "To lose one's family."   
  
Wraith remembered that her friend had spoken of his parents the night that he'd told her how he'd become a vampire. "Did…you ever try to see your parents again?" she asked him, "After, I mean?"   
  
"No," Janesch said, looking out the window, "The vampire is a very different creature than the boy he used to be."   
  
Wraith said nothing for time, watching the snow fall outside.   
  
"I don't want to be this anymore," she whispered, barely audible at all. "I can't. But I don't know how to be anything else." She gave a shuddering sigh and pushed away from the glass. "In a few more days––on New Years––I will have been free from Azkaban for a full year. Janesch," she said, turning back to face him, "I've a favor to ask you."   
  
"Name it,  _ma chéri_."   
  
"Come and visit me again on that night," she said simply. "...I may have a gift for you then."   
  
  
  
  
It was early evening when Snape arrived at Slytherin Manor and the sun had not yet set. As he entered the drawing room, he quickly took note of the changes made. Space had been cleared for a long gleaming table as had been present at the Malfoys' home for several meetings. Most of the chairs were already filled, but as always, there was a chair at the Dark Lord's right for him.   
  
Voldemort turned his eyes to Snape as the man approached the table. "Ah, Severus, welcome."   
  
Snape bowed low to the Dark Lord before he took his seat. "My Lord." His eyes darted to the Dark Lord's left to see Wraith seated beside him.  
  
Snape kept his face carefully controlled, but he was disturbed by the girl's face. It was as if she wore a mask. She was paler than usual and seemed somehow more fragile. There was nothing in her eyes but exhaustion and the shadows beneath them were deep as bruises.   
  
As if she felt his eyes on her, she glanced up briefly, meeting his gaze. He nodded shortly to her and then took his seat, placing the Dark Lord between them.   
  
Though a few of the gathered Death Eaters spoke softly to one another as they waited for the rest, the dominate sound within the room was the cracking fire behind the Dark Lord's chair.   
  
"Before the others arrive, Severus," Voldemort said, leaning slightly in his direction, "have you seen any sign of the Hogwarts ghosts?"   
  
"Nothing, my Lord," Snape replied. "I've searched the castle as thoroughly as I possibly could. I've also found no other traps laid out for me, but if it  _was_  the ghosts that managed that first one then it's likely they spent all of their collected energy on it."   
  
Voldemort leaned back in his chair with a slight sigh. "Ah, well. Perhaps it is for the best that they've abandoned the castle. One less thing to concern ourselves with." He looked to Wraith, touching a hand under her chin. "Perhaps you would consent to continuing your own search of the castle, my pet?"   
  
"Whatever you wish, my Lord," she replied, not lifting her eyes.   
  
Snape shot her a swift look. Something was very wrong, though Snape could not say why his instincts told him so.   
  
Lucius and Draco Malfoy appeared in the doorway a few moments later, Lucius taking the chair to the left of Wraith and his son sitting beside him. "My Lord," Lucius said with a bow before he sat. "My Lady," he added in an undertone to Wraith.   
  
Snape saw the weakest of smiles flit across her face before it disappeared. Snape did notice that both the Malfoys looked better than they had in months.  _Being in the Dark Lord's favor once more has done wonders_ , he thought almost bitterly.   
  
"Where is my sister?" Bellatrix demanded of her brother-in-law.   
  
"Narcissa chose not to join us," Lucius told her.   
  
"But––"   
  
"Narcissa is not, despite her many assistances, technically a Death Eater," Voldemort reminded Bellatrix. "She is not required to attend."   
  
"Oh. But my Lord, I had hoped––"   
  
"Oh, Bellatrix, do be quiet," Wraith all but snapped.   
  
Bellatrix flared at that, but Voldemort held up a hand. "I concur, my dear Bella. It is time to get on with this meeting."     
  
The meeting passed quickly and with many notes of good news for the Dark Lord's campaign. There were only a handful of Muggle-borns not registered within the Ministry; the Weasleys had collectively disappeared, their ramshackle house standing empty; though there was still no sign of Harry Potter or his friends.   
  
Once the meeting was over, Voldemort dismissed most of the Death Eaters, keeping the Lestranges and Malfoys to speak with further.   
  
"And Severus," Voldemort said, stopping the man from leaving, "if you could remain here at the Manor for a time, there is something I wish to discuss with you."   
  
"As you wish, my Lord," Snape replied with a bow of his head.   
  
He stepped out into the hall and was shortly followed by Wraith. She paid him no attention though, leaning against the wall and staring at the front doors as if waiting.   
  
"Expecting someone?" Snape asked in an undertone.   
  
"Yes," she replied simply. She turned shadowed eyes upon him. "Leave me be, Severus."   
  
Snape hesitated, not trusting her mask-like expression. "As you wish," he said, repeating the same words he'd given the Dark Lord. If Wraith noticed, she gave no sign.   
  
  
  
  
Snape wandered the halls of the Manor, part of him wondering if he would run into the ghost that was obviously still haunting the girl.   
  
The more he'd considered it and replayed the scene in his mind, the more certain he was that he  _had_  heard that whisper in the air around her. Something was nipping at the girl's heels, keeping her restless and tired if her appearance was any indication.   
  
 _And the Dark Lord does nothing…Why is that?_  
  
Usually Voldemort displayed an almost protective air to his Wraith, keeping her in his thrall––But there was no doubt that there was a distance between them now.   
  
With a frustrated sigh, Snape turned and started back towards the front of the Manor once more. Whether it was the haunting or not, he was starting to feel uncomfortable wandering the halls alone the deeper he ventured in.   
  
As he reached the top of the staircase, he stopped dead in his tracks and then stepped backwards until he was out of clear sight.   
  
The Wraith stood at the open door with the vampire Vivaldi. They stood close, speaking in low voices to one another. There was an almost conspiring air about them. As he watched, Wraith took the vampire's hand and pulled him inside, leading him down the hall and out of sight.   
  
That was enough to get Snape's attention. He performed a Disillusioning spell upon himself and followed at a slight distance.   
  
  
  
  
" _Ma petite_ , where are we going?"   
  
"The ballroom," Wraith told him. "I want to see it. If you're with me then I can do it without being afraid."   
  
Janesch smiled, but Wraith was so focused on their path that she did not see it. They stopped before a pair of once opulent doors, the golden gilt on them faded to nothing and many of the intricate designs cracked here and there.   
  
Wraith glanced at Janesch, an almost fierce gleam to her eyes, and she took hold of the doors and pulled them open. The room beyond echoed with the creaking sound of the long unused hinges. It was black as pitch within, but Wraith held up a hand and conjured a pale blue light in her palm. The light floated up just slightly above her head and followed her within.   
  
With Janesch at her back, Wraith felt steady enough to reach the center of the grand room. Seeing something in the shadows above her head, she had the small globe of blue light float further up. It hit the chandelier above them and lit it from within. Though the light was the same pale blue, it illuminated the length of the room for them.   
  
Wraith spun around, her skirts flying around her, and she laughed. Janesch was so happy to hear it, but he did not miss the almost manic quality to it.   
  
Wraith held up a hand and snapped her fingers. Her music box appeared in the air before her and she caught it delicately. Placing it on the floor in the center of the ballroom, she opened the lid.  _Greensleeves_  poured out into the empty echoing room like some haunted refrain.   
  
"Here, Janesch," Wraith said, holding out a hand to him, "Dance with me."   
  
Smiling, Janesch took her into his arms and they spun to the soft music. Wraith closed their eyes as they danced around the entire span of the dance floor, causing the thick dust upon the floor to rise up like clouds in their wake. The pale blue light made them both seem like dancing ghosts.   
  
"A year of freedom," Wraith said as they danced on, "A year without stone and metal surrounding me. But here I am, still chained nonetheless."   
  
She sighed and spun away from Janesch's arms, twirling on her own.   
  
"I hate it," she said sharply, not opening her eyes. "I hate it. I hate it. I'm still a prisoner, Janesch, still chained by  _him_. I want to be free. I want to spite him."   
  
She stopped very suddenly, her back to him.   
  
"I don't know if what I'm saying comes from how tired I am," she said honestly, "but it's still the truth." She turned to him, holding something small in her hand. "Are you ready for your gift?"   
  
  
  
  
Snape hid by the doorway, cursing the fact that the girl had illuminated the room with her power. In the dark, he might have gotten close enough to hear what they were saying to each other. He caught a few words here and there.   
  
"I hate it," he heard the Wraith say sharply and he heard the bitter tone of her voice though he could not make out the words that followed until the volume of her voice rose slightly, "––I want to be free. I want to spite him." But then her voice dropped again and he could barely hear that she was speaking at all.   
  
He watched as she turned to the vampire. She held her hand out to him, palm skyward and murmured something soft. Snape was struck by how utterly serene her face was––whereas the vampire suddenly looked almost afraid. Vivaldi said something that again, Snape could not hear, but it sounded as though he were almost arguing with her. Wraith clearly argued back, though her calm expression never faltered.   
  
Snape frowned at he saw Vivaldi take the girl's hand in his and as he placed a kiss in her palm. When the vampire lifted his head, there was a darker cast to it. He said something softly to Wraith and she nodded firmly. Vivaldi leaned forward and to Snape's surprise and discomfort, he placed a soft kiss upon Wraith's lips. Still holding her hand, Vivaldi led her over to the tall windows and the glass door that led outside onto the terrace.   
  
Snape cursed under his breath and double-checked his Disillusionment charm before he hurried after them. He prayed that they did not look back inside to see the way the dust rose in clouds behind his quick footsteps. Slipping through the door, he looked around for where the two had gone. His eyes locked onto them at the edge of the terrace and he went numb with shock and disbelief.   
  
The vampire had his arms locked tight around the girl and his fangs sunk into the pale flesh of her neck.   
  
Casting away the charm that kept him hidden, Snape ran forward, wand out. With a flash of red light and a loud  _bang_  the vampire was torn away from Wraith and sent flying out into the snow.   
  
Vivaldi rolled and came up hissing, his face bestial and his fangs drawn out. Snape advanced, prepared for another curse as Vivaldi jumped the stone railing back onto the terrace.   
  
" _ **STOP**_!"   
  
Wraith shrieked the word and it echoed across the snow-covered grounds. She held a hand to her neck where the vampire had bitten her, but she only had eyes for Snape. "Don't touch him," she hissed, "Don't you dare."   
  
"What the Hell were you thinking?" Snape demanded of her incredulously. "Letting a  _vampire_  that close to you? He could have killed you!"   
  
Wraith stared at him, her eyes wide and furious, but she said nothing.   
  
Janesch took a step closer, but Snape held his wand on him. "Not another step," the wizard told him sharply. "You've tasted her blood now––I can't let you near her."   
  
He expected the vampire to ignore the warning, but Janesch looked more himself again and did as Snape ordered. The vampire looked terribly sad, even with the drop of blood at the corner of his mouth. Snape was suddenly struck by how young Vivaldi appeared. He couldn't have been more than seventeen when he was turned.   
  
"Are you  _mad_?" Snape demanded of Wraith, "If you wanted to take a lover to spite the Dark Lord, you could at least choose one who wouldn't  _kill_  you!"   
  
"Snape, go away. This isn't your business," Wraith snapped at him.   
  
"And have the Dark Lord blame me for your death?" Snape replied dryly, "I don't think so." He kept his eyes on Vivaldi. "I think it's time you took your leave, vampire."   
  
"Don't you dare speak––" Wraith hissed, starting towards Snape.   
  
But Janesch's words stopped her dead in her tracks. "Wraith," he said softly, "He's right."   
  
Wraith's eyes widened and wavered as she swiftly turned back to him. "No," she whispered.   
  
Janesch looked pained and couldn't meet her eyes. "I think it's time I returned to France for a spell," he said, his voice gentle.   
  
"No," Wraith repeated, crossing to him. Snape moved forward to stop her, but the girl held up a hand and he found he was blocked by an invisible wall. "Janesch," she said, turning her eyes back to him. "Don't do this. You  _promised_  me…"   
  
"I know," Janesch said, putting his hands on her shoulders and holding her back from him. "And I pray that you'll someday forgive me. But Snape is right. I've tasted your blood and you're not safe from me anymore. I need to distance myself from you."   
  
"But––"   
  
"I'm sorry,  _ma chéri_ ," Janesch whispered to her, "But I have this terribly selfish need to see you live."   
  
Wraith trembled. She stared at Janesch's face as if he had handed her a grave betrayal of trust. "Don't leave me alone," she whispered pleadingly. She sounded so very much like a small child as she begged him. " _Don't leave me_."   
  
Tears escaped Janesch's warm brown eyes and he shook slightly with the effort as he leaned forward to kiss her gingerly upon her cheek. " _Je vous aime, ma fille chérie_ ," he whispered softly, " _Au revoir_."   
  
With visible effort, he pulled away from her and turned his back on her. Janesch threw one glance at Snape, but the man could no more read his expression than read the stars.   
  
Wraith stood exactly where Janesch had left her, shaking dreadfully. Snape found that the wall she had put up was gone and he stepped forward carefully. The expression in the girl's eyes was terrible, a grief so vast that it shook Snape to the core. She stood as if frozen, unseeing.   
  
"Wraith," Snape said, keeping his voice low, "Wraith, let's get you back inside."   
  
Wraith said nothing and did not move, but when Snape put a hand under her arm and pulled her along, she offered no resistance. She moved like a puppet as he took her along. As he lifted his eyes back to the ballroom, he realized that the light she had conjured within was gone. Scowling slightly, he lifted his hand, murmuring, " _Lumos_."   
  
He led her through the ballroom silently, but when they reached the hallway, Snape looked sharply at the girl. "What are we going to tell the Dark Lord?"   
  
It was as if he'd flipped a switch somewhere in her mind.   
  
With a high shriek, Wraith reached up and wrapped her hand around Snape's throat, her power encircling her hand and giving strength enough to push him against the wall. Snape choked as she cut off his air and grabbed her wrist, but with her power behind her he could not free himself.   
  
" _We_  will tell the Dark Lord  _nothing_ ," Wraith hissed at him through her teeth. "You will not speak  _one word_  to him about this, do you understand me? If you so much as  _breathe_  a word of this night, I will kill you."   
  
Snape found that he believed her.   
  
She released him suddenly, her lips still twisted in a snarl. "I will not have Janesch hunted down like a dog," she told him. "And you know that is exactly what our Lord would do if he knew."  
  
"How can you defend him?" Snape demanded of her, "He could have  _killed_  you––He very nearly did!"  
  
Wraith stared at him. "You astound me."  
  
"What are you talking about?"  
  
"How can you see so much," she said, "but understand so little?"  
  
Snape had no answer for her. "You wouldn't kill me," he said bitterly. "The Dark Lord would punish you terribly for my death."   
  
"Only if he caught me," Wraith replied darkly. But her fierce and terribly fury for him seemed to waver. "…You have no idea how much I hate you now," she whispered to him.   
  
With those simple words, she turned her back on him and was gone before he could stop her.   
  
Snape rubbed his throat where she had grabbed him. His skin was cold and raw beneath his hand.  _I've just made an enemy of Voldemort's greatest weapon_ , he realized with a cold shock. He sighed, closing his eyes as he leaned against the wall behind him for support.  _I'm a dead man._


	80. Provoked

_"The words 'I am...' are potent words; be careful what you hitch them to. The thing you're claiming has a way of reaching back and claiming you."_  
  
  
  
  
The next day the Dark Lord realized early on that his Wraith had effectively disappeared. When he discovered that he did not feel her presence within the Manor, a flash of irritation pulsed through him along with a sense of curiosity. It was not often that his Wraith went anywhere on her own. He would have assumed she was with the vampire Vivaldi, but for the sun shining brightly outside. As it was, he chose to simply wait for her return.   
  
But as night began to fall, she had still nowhere to be found. His patience worn to little more than fragments, Voldemort called for Snape to return to the Manor.   
  
Snape made his way up to the Dark Lord's tower, on guard against both Wraith's possible appearance and the specter that seemed to haunt her. He stood at the door of the tower and knocked once.   
  
"Enter," the Dark Lord said to him through the door.   
  
Snape stepped inside, shutting the door behind him as he crossed to the desk. Bowing, Snape cast a quick glance around the room to verify that Wraith was not with her Lord. "You needed something of me, my Lord?"   
  
"My Wraith is gone."   
  
Snape kept his face carefully blank and his voice mild. "Gone, my Lord?"   
  
"She has disappeared," Voldemort said, standing to pace in front of the fire. "I discovered her missing this morning and she has yet to return."  
  
"I'm afraid I don't know how I could be of assistance, my Lord," Snape said carefully.   
  
"It occurred to me that I had not seen her since the meeting last night," Voldemort said with a shrug. "I wanted to know if you had."   
  
Snape was silent a moment as he thought. "Only briefly in the hall outside the drawing room," he replied, "Though…I did see her from a distance, perhaps twenty minutes later. She was greeting the vampire, Vivaldi, at the door."   
  
The Dark Lord scowled at the mention of Janesch's name. "I did wonder if he had something to do with her sudden disappearance," he said softly. "Is it possible that she took her leave last night rather than this morning? No," he said, speaking to himself now as if he had forgotten Snape was even there, "No, I would have noticed if she had…"   
  
There was a long silence as Voldemort's voice trailed off.  
  
"My Lord," Snape said slowly, drawing Voldemort's attention back to him, "I feel that I am––well, I don't know if  _concerned_  is the right word but I can think of no other. ––There is something very  _wrong_  with your Wraith, isn't there?"   
  
Voldemort's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"   
  
Though the Dark Lord's tone carried a warning, Snape pressed on "The incident a couple of weeks ago, when I discovered her in the hall and felt pressed to escort her back to her room…I know that I'd told you the girl was unwell, but…My Lord, it was almost as though she were having a panic attack of some sort––She was hearing things–– voices."   
  
"Are you saying you think my Wraith mad, Severus?" The Dark Lord asked bitingly.   
  
"No," Snape said bluntly. "I heard it too."   
  
There was the slightest of flickers in Voldemort's red inhuman eyes––but it was enough for Snape to realize that the Dark Lord knew  _exactly_ what was haunting his Wraith. Snape gave no voice to or indication of this realization, knowing he would be far from safe if he did. He was saved from speaking further though––  
  
––By Wraith's appearance at the door.   
  
Voldemort looked up sharply to where she stood and Snape followed his gaze. The girl leaned against the doorframe, only a trace of emotion in her face. "Talking about me?" she asked lightly, "No wonder my ears are burning."   
  
She pushed off of the doorframe and strode into the room. She slipped gracefully into the second chair that rested in front of the desk and crossed her legs. Her eyes briefly met Snape's and he read the warning in them clearly. The pure hatred he saw behind the warning forced him to look away.   
  
"Where have you been all day, my Wraith?" Voldemort demanded of her.   
  
She turned her eyes to him, her face never changing. "Oh, dear––have I gotten myself into trouble?"   
  
" _Wraith_ ," Voldemort hissed her name, his impatience clear.   
  
"In all honesty, my Lord," she told him simply, "it did not really occur to me that you would miss me." She held up her left arm, the short sleeves of her dress leaving it and the Mark upon it bare. "If you needed me, you had but to call and I would have returned in an instant. But as you didn't…" She shrugged casually, her eyes all but innocent as she met her Lord's glare.   
  
Snape stared at her. There was a harshness to her that hadn't been there even the night before––a callousness that rubbed him wrong.   
  
"You still have not answered my question," Voldemort reminded her, "Where were you?"   
  
"I was nowhere," she told him, her voice giving nothing to him.   
  
A silent challenge seemed to pass between them. Snape saw the girl's eyes narrow, but she seemed determined not to look away first.   
  
"I think that your presence is no longer required…Severus," Wraith said softly, her eyes still upon her Lord.   
  
"My Lord?" Snape said, to confirm the truth of it.   
  
"You may go," Voldemort told him.   
  
Snape stood and bowed low to the Dark Lord. He was very careful as he turned to leave not to leave his back exposed to the Wraith.       
  
Voldemort waited until Snape had gone before he posed another biting question to his Wraith. "What is wrong with you?" he demanded.   
  
"Not a thing, my Lord," Wraith replied innocently.   
  
"You are in a strange mood, pet," Voldemort said slowly, "You expect me to believe you?"   
  
Wraith smiled and shrugged again. "Perhaps it is that I am a little sad," she confessed lightly. "Janesch is going back to France, to see his old master I think. It will be some time before I see him again."   
  
A satisfied smile flashed across Voldemort's face. Wraith's eyes narrowed.   
  
"Oh, you could at least  _try_  to have a little sympathy for your Wraith, my Lord," she said a touch sharp. She sat back and propped her feet up on the desk in a rather defiant gesture.   
  
"My poor pet," Voldemort murmured, clearly amused. "Whatever could I do to lighten your sadness?"   
  
A sharp glint came to Wraith's eyes and she leaned forward, setting her feet on the floor once more. "Do you mean that?"   
  
Voldemort gave her a considering look. "Did you have something in mind?"   
  
She moved to the edge of her seat and leaned on the desk. "Use me," she told him plainly. "Keep me busy," she clarified, "And away from this place as much as is possible. Because I promise you, my Lord, if I spend much more time here I will go quite noisily mad––and I will not go alone."   
  
"But what exactly do you propose, my pet?" he asked her curiously.   
  
"Send me after the Order," she suggested, sitting back again. "I'll hunt the Weasleys down––Kingsley––McGonagall even. They've only faced me in battle once. My encounter with Potter couldn't even be called that."   
  
She stood and walked slowly around the desk, her eyes never leaving her Lord's.   
  
"They don't know enough of me to  _properly_  fear me. Let me correct that. You have named me vicious," she reminded him, leaning down and placing her hands upon the armrests of his chair, "Let me  _be_  vicious." A mere inch from his face, she whispered, "I am called your Lady Death…let me truly earn my title." The gleam in her broken eyes made them seem all the more inhuman. "I'll exercise my demons on  _them_."   
  
Voldemort reached up to run a finger down her cheek and then he touched the shadows beneath her eye, their color deep and nearly purple. "Are you truly strong enough to be sent?" he demanded softly.  
  
Wraith's lips twisted into a scowl and she straightened, moving out of his reach. "It is my sleep that is affected, not my power," she retorted rather sharply. "If I am given intervals away from this place, I can guarantee you that I'll sleep better at night."  
  
"I'll  _think_  about it," Voldemort told her maddeningly.   
  
Wraith's scowl deepened briefly before it fell away. Wraith took another step backwards and turned her head, staring into the fire.   
  
"Do you remember the day you had me heal McGonagall?"   
  
Voldemort's eyes narrowed at the sudden, softly spoken question. "Yes," he replied slowly, "Why do you ask?"   
  
"I've just remembered something," Wraith murmured, her eyes still locked on the fire. "…She called you 'Riddle'…Why is that?"   
  
Voldemort stiffened and inhaled sharply. "It's of no consequence," he told her firmly. "Put it from your mind."   
  
"It isn't fair," she said softly, turning her eyes slowly to his. "You know everything of me, yet I know nothing of you."   
  
"Everything you need to know of me you already do," he said sharply.   
  
"And just what do I know?" she replied just as sharply.   
  
"That I am your Master and that no one else commands you!"   
  
"She called you 'Riddle' as if she knew you," Wraith reminded him, her eyes flashing in the firelight. "It was your name once. It was that name that provoked you so badly, wasn't it?"   
  
"Wraith––"   
  
" _Wasn't it_?"   
  
Voldemort stood so swiftly that his chair fell back, crashing to the floor behind him. His serpentine eyes were wide and his breathing harsh.   
  
Wraith stared up at him, her eyes giving nothing. "…How interesting," she whispered.   
  
All at once, the Dark Lord's temper abated. He stared down at his Wraith in perplexity. "You were deliberately provoking me," he realized, "just as she did."   
  
Wraith said nothing, neither denying nor confirming his suspicions. She just looked at him.   
  
Voldemort pointed to the door, a muscle ticking beneath his eye. "Get out. I've no patience for you tonight."   
  
"As you wish," she said softly. She turned her back on him, crossing back to the door.   
  
"Wraith."   
  
She paused, waiting silently.   
  
"I never want to hear that name on your lips again––Do you understand me?"   
  
"Yes, my Lord," she replied, glancing over her shoulder to meet his eyes. "I understand."     
  
And she was gone just as quickly as she had appeared.   
  
Voldemort stared at the door, unmoving.


	81. His Lady Death

_"I felt despair. Though it seems to me now there are two kinds of it: the sort that causes a person to surrender and then the sort I had which made me take risks and make plans."_  
  
  
  
  
As January bled away into February and February into March, the rumors spread like wildfire across a terrified country.   
  
Voldemort gave his Wraith her wish and made use of her. She was sent out to hunt down members of the Order and any others who dared to stand in the way of Lord Voldemort. Wraith was given free rein to capture her prey, including the order to kill if necessary––Though Wraith was careful to never let it become so. She took to wearing a snow-white cloak rather than the dress, finding that it was easier to cast aside her role as Lady Death that way.   
  
Her hunt would take her away from the Manor for weeks at a time. Sometimes they were successful, other times they weren't. But the fear left in her wake was palpable. And it came to pass that Wraith's promise to her Lord was fulfilled.   
  
In the weeks that she was away from the Manor, her health  _did_  improve. The shadows beneath her eyes seemed to disappear and she did not skulk through the halls as if waiting for attack. She was efficient and seemed ruthless in the pursuit of her prey.   
  
Snape had kept a watchful eye upon the Dark Lord's Lady Death, half expecting some sort of vengeance on her part, and what he saw made him wary. The girl had resumed her quiet, rather unassuming manner when she was within the Manor, and she did not seem to be pining after her vampire at all.   
  
But the more Snape studied her, the more he noticed that the girl did not interact with  _anyone_  unless they spoke to her first, not even the Dark Lord. It was as if she existed but did not live. She was a shadow of herself. She did not laugh. She did not smile. Snape had to wonder if he was the only one who saw it.  
  
  
  
  
The March wind was bitterly cold and grew even more so after the sun had set upon the Manor. Wraith Apparated at the edge of the grounds, but she did not arrive alone.   
  
"Stand up," she ordered the bound woman at her feet.   
  
When the witch simply let out a sob, Wraith stepped around and knelt in front of her. Her face was hidden behind her mask. The girl reached out and grabbed the woman by the chin, making her look up from the ground.   
  
"Stand," she said again. "Trust me––you'll want to face him on your feet."   
  
The witch's face was pale and wane, a far cry from the pink-cheeked and rather cheerful woman Wraith had hunted down over the last two weeks. Hestia Jones took a shaking breath, closing her eyes tight for a moment as she fought to collect herself. Finally, she released the breath. When she opened her eyes again, they were harder and she glared rather forcefully at Wraith.   
  
"That's better," Wraith murmured. "Keep your anger," she advised, "It might just keep you alive." She rose to her feet, tilting her head to the side as she considered her prey. "Stand."   
  
Hestia swallowed her fear and clumsily got to het feet, her hands bound tightly behind her back. The witch's wand was safety tucked away in Wraith's cloak pocket and out of sight.   
  
Wraith stepped to the side and gestured for Hestia to start walking. The witch steeled herself and then started up the path, with Wraith at her back to keep her moving.   
  
When they reached the front steps, Wraith snapped her fingers and the doors opened to admit them. Lord Voldemort awaited his Wraith in the drawing room, along with Rowle, Wormtail, and Snape. Wraith's eyes flashed behind her mask at the sight of Snape, but other than that, she quite ignored his presence.   
  
Wraith took hold of Hestia's elbow and forcefully pulled her forward to stand before the Dark Lord.   
  
"Well, well," Voldemort said softly, his smile a terrible thing. "Hestia Jones, isn't it?"   
  
Wraith knew why her Lord looked so pleased. Hestia Jones was the first actual member of the Order of the Phoenix she had managed to successfully track.   
  
Hestia was trembling where she stood and she couldn't seem to raise her eyes from the floor, but all in all Wraith thought the witch was holding her ground better than most she had brought before the Dark Lord.   
  
"Now… what am I to do with you?" Voldemort said slowly. "Shall I kill you where you stand and be rid of another piece of the Order? Or could you be of use to Lord Voldemort?"   
  
Hestia trembled even more and tears escaped her once bright eyes. But she slowly brought her eyes up in a valiant effort at defiance. "You are no 'lord'," the woman whispered harshly. "You are a  _monster_ …nothing more!"   
  
Wraith watched as Voldemort's face contorted with ire, but the Dark Lord seemed to stop himself from taking action. He tilted his head, reminding Hestia of his Wraith, and then spoke in a soft, cold voice, "Rowle, take our guest below. She can enjoy the hospitality of our dungeons until I have decided what's to be done with her."   
  
Rowle stepped away from the others and took Hestia by the back of the woman's neck, pulling her up to stand straight. He put his wand at her back and pushed her forward, making her stumble before him out of the room.   
  
Wraith turned her head to watch them go. It was only when she heard the door to the dungeon open and close that she reached up to remove her mask. There was little difference between the mask and the face beneath it though.   
  
"You have done  _very_  well, my pet," Voldemort told her, gesturing her forward.   
  
"Thank you, my Lord," Wraith said, her voice bare.   
  
"I am pleased with you, my Wraith," he said, stroking her hair. "Now, you should rest. We don't want you overtaxing yourself, do we?"   
  
"As you say, my Lord," Wraith agreed, stepping back and away from him. She dipped gracefully, her head bowed. "You've but to call me when you have need of me, my Lord." She turned on her heel, the white of her cloak bright in the shadowed room.   
  
Once she had gone, Snape approached the Dark Lord. "She does seem to be in better health, my Lord," he said.  _If not better spirits anyhow._    
  
"I believe I underestimated my Wraith's cleverness," Voldemort said lightly. "She has never been more valuable to me than she is now––and it was all her own idea."   
  
Snape blinked to hide his surprise. "She… _suggested_  that you send her after the Order?"   
  
"She did indeed," Voldemort said, smiling slightly. "She almost  _demanded_  that I keep her busy and away from here. And I'll admit, she was correct in her thinking. It helps her…and it helps me in turn. It is only a matter of time now before the last of the Order of the Phoenix is crushed beneath my heel." Voldemort turned and took his chair by the fire. "How many would you say are left within Hogsmeade?" the Dark Lord demanded.   
  
"Not many, my Lord," Snape replied, sitting across from him. "The only ones of any note are the Flumes––the Honeydukes shopkeepers––Rosmerta, and the bartender at the Hog's Head. There are a few others scattered over the village, but they've never left their houses after dark."   
  
"No sign that the Order is using the village?"   
  
"Not that I have seen," Snape said, "and after that letter last fall I have been keeping a close eye upon it."   
  
"Continue to do so," Voldemort told him. "You may return to Hogwarts, with my thanks."   
  
Snape stood and bowed low before he turned, quickly leaving the room. In the hall, he paused, glancing up the stairs. To his disquiet, he saw the Wraith standing at the top of them.   
  
Their eyes met briefly before Wraith slowly turned away and disappeared from sight.   
  
 _A warning then_ , Snape realized:  _A warning that she is watching me as I watch her._  
  
  
  
Wraith had almost reached her tower when she heard footsteps in the distance behind her. She turned swiftly on her heels to see who it was that followed her.   
  
Rabastan stopped in his tracks and held up his hands. "Good evening, my Lady," he said carefully. "Forgive me––I only wanted a word with you."   
  
"Rabastan," Wraith said with an impatient sigh. "What do you want?" she asked him lightly.   
  
Rabastan cleared his throat and withdrew something from his pocket, holding it out to her. "I wondered…if you would accept this favor from me," he said slowly. "It's only a small thing, but…"   
  
Wraith bit her tongue and strode forward to take what he offered. Within the small box was a seemingly simple bracelet, made for a small wrist such as hers. But when she lifted it from the box, she saw that it was solid gold, the metal pure enough to be quite malleable. Wraith realized she held a small fortune in her hand.   
  
"Lovely," she commented, "Now what is it for?"   
  
Rabastan winced when she saw through the bribe, but he pushed on, sensing that she was not offended. "…There is a wizard at the Ministry," he admitted. "He's no real danger to the Dark Lord's cause, but he is…an irritation to myself and a number of others loyal to the Dark Lord. I had hoped you would mention his name to our Lord, perhaps gain me the permission to be rid of this man."   
  
"And what is his name?" Wraith asked tiredly.   
  
"Well, it's…Trevelyan."   
  
Wraith recognized the name. Looking at the bracelet and then back up at Rabastan, she considered. Finally, she placed the bracelet back into its box and threw it at Rabastan.   
  
"Keep your trinket," she told him. "I'll mention the name to our Lord. Tis no bother to do so." She turned her back on him, starting down the hall once more. "And Rabastan?" she called back to him, "just  _ask_  next time."   
  
  
  
  
Once she had reached her tower, Wraith firmly locked the door behind her and put a silencing charm upon it as well. She crossed to a new desk she had conjured several weeks earlier and lit the two candles that rested upon its surface. She emptied her pockets of a few small vials, adding them to the collection already in the drawer. Once the vials were safely tucked within, she closed the drawer and locked it. Choosing another drawer, she pulled out a small black notebook and sat down at the desk.   
  
Besides the candles, the only object upon the desk's surface was a thin aged book, the lettering on its spine peeling away. Wraith opened it carefully, turning to the page she had last marked, and as she read she opened the notebook as well, writing now and then in small rather cramped handwriting.   
  
The desk, the book, and the notebook were all heavily enchanted against outsiders, even the Dark Lord.  _No_ , Wraith reminded herself, _especially the Dark Lord_. For anyone but her, the desk would not open and it could not be destroyed. The notebook would appear blank and the old book could not be touched without inflicting pain upon the trespasser.   
  
Wraith sometimes wondered if she was being over cautious, but then she told herself that being overly cautious was better than being caught.


	82. Old Friend

_"Death is not the worst that can happen to men."_  
  
  
  
  
Wraith stepped into the Dark Lord's tower without a sound, her white cloak over her shoulders and her mask in hand. "You called for me?"   
  
Voldemort sat behind his desk, a thin volume in his hand. He closed the book and leaned forward to place it upon the desk. "I did," he told her. "I have something of a special assignment for you, my pet."   
  
Wraith crossed the room until she stood a few feet from him. "Tell me more."   
  
"I have someone I want you to find for me," he said, "He's an old teacher of mine, in fact."   
  
"Is he a member of the Order?"   
  
Voldemort smiled slowly. "Horace Slughorn would never risk his skin in such a way," he said. "No, he's not part of the Order––but I do have an interest in capturing him. There is…certain information he may have. I want to know if he's shared it."   
  
"Will he be difficult to catch, do you think?" Wraith asked.   
  
"He could be," Voldemort admitted. "He was on the run for quite a while before he took his old post at Hogwarts…I was shortsighted enough not to capture him while he was there…and he has evaded capture ever since." He pushed a slip of paper across the desk to her. "This is his last known location, but he moves around rather quickly, never stays in one place for long."   
  
Wraith took the paper and read it quickly. Then she placed it back on the desk. "I'll find him," she said simply.   
  
"Oh, I have no doubt, my pet."   
  
  
  
  
Wraith was almost to the front doors when she heard someone call her name. She frowned in suspicion and turned to see Bellatrix leaving the drawing room. The older woman looked as if she had swallowed a bug.   
  
"I want to talk to you," Bellatrix said swiftly, her tone brooking no argument.   
  
"Keep it short," Wraith said, "I've someone to find."   
  
Bellatrix stopped several feet away from her, her hands curling and uncurling into fists at her sides in an almost nervous gesture. "I know that my brother-in-law is…courting you," she said abruptly. "I want you to stop him. I refuse to have  _you_  in the Lestrange family!"   
  
Wraith stared at her. "…You should take your wishes to the Dark Lord," she said at last. "I cannot help you."   
  
She started to turn away, but Bellatrix stopped her, grabbing her arm. Wraith put a hand to the hilt of the dagger at her waist, but hesitated in drawing it.   
  
"You––!"   
  
"Bellatrix, the matter of my marriage is as out of my hands as your marriage was yours," Wraith told her impatiently.   
  
Bellatrix paused and then slowly released her hold of the girl, frowning deeply. Wraith turned back to her, surprised by the sudden understanding between them.   
  
"As I told Rabastan, our Lord doesn't intend to see me married for years yet," she said softly. "It is very likely that your brother-in-law will lose patience and change his mind. I don't think you've much to worry about."   
  
Bellatrix took a step back, looking away. "… _Are_  you the Dark Lord's lover?" she asked softly, her voice harsh.   
  
Wraith sighed, tired of the question. "Bella, that is between me and our Lord alone," she replied firmly. "I have to go," she added, turning again.   
  
She felt the strangest sense of pity for Bellatrix as she left the Manor. Her husband had to be close to a stranger to her, what with all the years in Azkaban between them. How long had they been married before they were locked in separate cells to wait for their Lord? Did they even  _like_  one another anymore? Did they love one another at all?   
  
Wraith shook her head, not liking the direction her mind was taking her. The Dark Lord had no patience for stupid things like  _love_. The most she could expect was someone whom she could tolerate at best, loath at worst. It was the blood and the loyalty of the man that the Dark Lord would consider and nothing else.   
  
  
  
  
Slughorn raced into the back room of the Muggle house where he had hidden himself. He pressed a hand to his racing heart as he locked the door behind him with a powerful charm. He was having trouble breathing and sweat poured down his thick face.   
  
"No," he whispered when he heard the soft footsteps slowly approaching from the other side of the door. "No, no…"   
  
He scrambled back as the door burst open despite the charm. "Please, no!" he cried at the sight of the white cloak and sightless face. Wraith reached a hand out and Slughorn quickly turned on the spot––  
  
––Disapparating to an abandoned street miles away.   
  
In the cold night air, he paused to catch his breath. He had known that it could only be a matter of time before the Death Eaters resumed their chase of him. He had gone into hiding the moment he had escaped Hogwarts, knowing he's never be as safe as he had been there.   
  
But now where could he go? He had severed ties with all he knew within the Order of the Phoenix, not wanting He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named to have any other reasons for wanting him dead. Who could help him now with the Wraith herself on his heels?   
  
Breathing deeply, the frigid air burning in his lungs, Slughorn straightened. His eyes all but popped out of his head. "Oh, no––"   
  
She leaned against a low stone wall only a yard away, her cloak bright in the darkness. "It's no use running, Horace," she said, the wind carrying her soft voice to him. "Not now that I've found you."   
  
Slughorn felt as if his feet were rooted to the ground.   
  
Wraith pushed off of the wall, walking slowly towards him. "You've led me on a merry chase," she told him lightly. "Nearly a month; I've never spent so long on a hunt. But you've experience in running, don't you?"   
  
"Please," Slughorn mumbled. "Please, have mercy…"   
  
"My Lord wishes to speak to you, Horace," she said, ignoring his desperate pleas, "A conversation long overdue by now." She touched a hand to his shoulder, the wind whipping into a frenzy around them. "Time to stop running."   
  
Slughorn's eyes rolled up into his head as he dropped into a dead faint.   
  
He fell to the ground at the edge of the Manor's grounds. Wraith considered him there upon the graveled path.   
  
"You've been such a bother," she murmured tiredly. "I don't suppose you'd stop now."   
  
She adjusted her cloak and pressed a finger to the Mark upon her arm. It wasn't more than a minute later that two figured appeared at the Manor door and started down the path to her.   
  
"He's fainted," Wraith told them shortly.   
  
Rowle sneered at the fallen wizard and kicked him lightly with the toe of his boot. "Cowardly git," the Death Eater muttered.   
  
He and Dolohov bent down, each taking one of Slughorn's arms and lifting him up. They carried him back up to the Manor with Wraith a step behind them.    
  
They dragged him into the drawing room where the Dark Lord waited. Voldemort's snake-like face seemed luminous in the dim light of the fire. He smiled, a terrible expression, at the sight of Slughorn. Rowle and Dolohov deposited the heavy man at the Dark Lord's feet and then departed, leaving only Wraith standing in the doorway.   
  
"Oh, my pet," Voldemort murmured, gesturing for her to come closer. "You have done me such a service."   
  
Wraith stood at his side and allowed him to lower to hood of her cloak. He reached up, running a hand over her mask before he removed it to see her face. "I'm sorry that it took me so long, my Lord," she said softly.   
  
"No matter," he said, his eyes going back to Slughorn. "You found him, captured him, and that is all that matters." Voldemort turned to Slughorn, tilting his head to one side. "Wake him for me, pet."   
  
Wraith looked down at the fallen man and sighed softly. She snapped her fingers and Slughorn's eyes flew open. The old professor blinked several times, the confusion muddling his senses, and his sight slowly fell upon the Dark Lord. Every bit of color drained from his face.   
  
With a strangled scream, Slughorn propelled himself backwards across the floor, scrambling for a way out. "Don't kill me!" he cried, "Oh, please god, don't kill me!"   
  
"Kill you?" Voldemort repeated with an incredulous tone, "My dear Professor…why would I  _kill_  you?" He strode across the room. "You, who did me such a great service all those many years ago," Voldemort reminded him, standing beside the man. "Lord Voldemort does not forget those who have helped him on his path to greatness."   
  
"Please," Slughorn whispered hoarsely, "I never told anyone…not a soul…please…."   
  
Voldemort looked deeply into Slughorn's eyes to find the truth of it. He saw the faked memory that Slughorn had given Dumbledore and laughed aloud at the ridiculousness of it. Dumbledore would not have been fooled by it––but nor would he have found the truth either.   
  
There was something else…a vague half-forgotten night…but Slughorn could not recall it and Voldemort knew it would take time to unravel it.   
  
"I believe you," the Dark Lord said almost gently. "Now, Horace, my old friend," he said as he walked back over to the fireplace where his Wraith still stood, "As I said, you once did me a great service––Will you do so again? You've a brilliant mind and valuable connections all throughout the Wizarding world––Join me, Horace, and you'll never need fear death again."   
  
Slughorn began to sob, dry wracking sobs that shook him. "I don't want to die," he whispered. "I don't want to die…"   
  
"Then join me, Horace. Join me."   
  
Slughorn slowly lifted his eyes. "I don't want to die…but I can't join you. I won't." He sounded so utterly defeated, Wraith thought, but the words were so brave. "I'm sorry, lad," Slughorn said, his voice barely audible, "But I won't. I did a terrible thing all those years ago and I have never redeemed myself of it. I'm not about to add to my guilt."   
  
Voldemort's face twisted in a scowl and he pointed his wand at Slughorn, a curse on his lips––But Wraith put a gentle hand upon his wrist. She pushed his hand down so that the wand pointed harmlessly to the floor. Voldemort let her, curious as to her reasons.   
  
"Give him time to think about it," she whispered softly, standing very close to him. "As you said––he's valuable." She turned her eyes on Slughorn. "He's not a stupid man…give him time."   
  
Voldemort looked from his Wraith to Slughorn, considering her words. "Very well," he said at last. "His death would be such a waste after all…Rowle."   
  
The large Death Eater stepped back into the room and bowed to the Dark Lord. "My Lord?"   
  
"Take Slughorn to the dungeons below."   
  
"Yes, my Lord." Rowle pointed his wand at the man still on the floor and ropes sprang from it to wrap tightly around Slughorn's wrists. Dragging the heavy man up, Rowle pulled him from the room.   
  
"No," Wraith heard Slughorn cry out. " _No_!" Wraith felt a stirring of pity. The man had resigned himself to death and here she was taking it away from him.  
  
Voldemort turned his back on the door, facing the fire.   
  
"Do you need me for anything else?" Wraith asked him softly.   
  
"No," he told her. "You go and rest. You are, no doubt, exhausted from the hunt."   
  
Wraith hesitated, reaching a hand out to touch his arm. "Tired yes, but not exhausted."   
  
Voldemort turned slightly, catching her wrist in his hand. He stared down at her for a moment as if trying to read her thoughts. But her mind was safely hidden behind the wall of her power…not even  _he_  could get around it. He pulled her a little closer. "My pet," he murmured. "What is it you want?"   
  
"I'd wondered if you'd changed your mind about me," she said softly, "That's all."   
  
" _Ah_ ," Voldemort said, slipping a hand around the back of her neck. "Feeling neglected, pet?"   
  
Wraith said nothing more, but she tilted her head back so that he could press his lips to hers. A sigh escaped her as his hold on her tightened and she wrapped an arm around his neck to keep her balance.   
  
The sound of the front door opening made her remember that the drawing rooms doors were open as well. She pulled back swiftly, her eyes darting to them. Voldemort, having heard the front doors as well, did not stop her.   
  
As they waited, Snape appeared in the doorway. He bowed to Voldemort, his eyes never straying to his Wraith. "My Lord," he said. "You had asked for me?"   
  
"I had, yes," Voldemort said. "Thank you, Severus." He looked to Wraith. "Another time," he murmured for her ears alone.   
  
"Yes, my Lord," she replied, stepping away. She walked past Snape without a glance to him, her footsteps dying away in the hall.   
  
"Severus, would you care to explain to me just why my Wraith has taken such a dislike to you?"   
  
Snape stiffened slightly. "Several factors, my Lord," he said slowly. "Differences in opinion…and I believe she may think herself still in my debt," he added thoughtfully. "She does not like that. And I'll admit that I am…wary of her, my Lord."   
  
"Do you think that a truce could be found?"   
  
"My Lord?"   
  
"I'm asking you if you believe that your differences could be set aside."   
  
"…Honestly, my Lord, I do not know."   
  
"She cannot be here come June," Voldemort said. "As badly as the Manor affects her now…then it would be even worse. Loath as I am to admit it, she cannot fight whatever it is here. In June, I want her moved to a new place. I thought Hogwarts the most appropriate."   
  
"Ah," Snape said.  _Over my dead body_. "Perhaps I could…seek to bring a truce about," he suggested hesitantly.  _And she'll only accept a truce over_ her _dead body._    
  
"Do try," Voldemort said darkly. "My two best lieutenants should not be at each other's throats."


	83. Poison

_"Don't take life too seriously. You'll never get out of it alive."_  
  
  
  
  
The next night found Wraith sequestered within her tower. Sitting at her desk, she poured over the small battered book, flipping through the delicate pages as quickly as she dared. The soft rustling of the paper was the only sound which broke the heavy silence around her.   
  
Wraith's head turned as she heard quite clearly someone climbing her tower stairs. A touch of power extended her senses and told her who it was that dared to disturb her. The identity made her scowl.   
  
As he knocked softly upon the door, Wraith closed the book and stood, carrying it over with her to the fireplace. The knock came again and Wraith gave in. Not moving from where she stood, she undid the lock on the door and dispelled the charm that lay over it.   
  
"What do you want, Severus?"   
  
Taking that as the best invitation he was going to get, Snape cautiously stepped inside. He gave her a short polite bow, which she ignored. "I wished to speak with you."   
  
"That is fairly obvious," Wraith said cuttingly, "What about?"   
  
"A truce."   
  
Wraith laughed, the sound bright and cold. It was the first trace of real emotion he'd seen out of her for months. He could have done without it.   
  
"I supposed that would be your answer," Snape said, "Though I  _was_  under the impression that you wished to be rid of this place."   
  
What little color there was to her face drained away.   
  
Snape turned towards the door. "My mistake."   
  
The thin book fell to the floor, slipping through numb fingers. Snape turned back to her, waiting.   
  
"That…is a low blow, Severus Snape," Wraith said softly. "Explain to me  _exactly_  what you mean."   
  
"The Dark Lord has admitted that the Manor has an ill effect upon you," Snape told her. "He wishes to move you somewhere else and soon. Hogwarts is his first choice. However, as he doesn't want us to kill each other in our sleep––he has put to me to find a truce."   
  
Slowly, Wraith bent to retrieve the book, pressing it to her chest as she straightened. Snape could all but see the thoughts racing behind her eyes. "Hogwarts," Wraith murmured thoughtfully.  
  
"You did like it there, didn't you?"   
  
Wraith glanced at him sharply. "Are you so willing to have me under the same roof, Severus?"   
  
"I've no wish to die anytime soon, so no. Not particularly," he replied dryly. "But I'm not stupid enough to deny our Lord anything."   
  
Something upon her desk caught his eye. He crossed to it casually and picked up the small vial upon it. Wraith stiffened, but made no move to stop him.    
  
" _Essence of hellebore_?" Snape said, reading the label. He turned to her, holding it up. "What would someone of your power need with a common poison?"   
  
Wraith placed the book upon the table near the fire and crossed to him, her eyes never leaving his. She stopped barely an inch from him. Reaching up, she wrapped her hand around the vial, her fingers brushing his.   
  
"Power isn't everything," she said softly.   
  
Her skin was like ice. Snape let her take the vial from his hand, but grabbed her arm before she could step away. She was naught but skin and bone beneath his hand. "Not doing as well as you appear, are you? How much are you hiding, Lady Wraith?"   
  
Something flickered in the back of her eyes. "Let go," she whispered.   
  
Snape hesitated a moment before he released her, taking a step back as he did so. Wraith turned her back on him, crossing back to the table and leaning a hand upon it. Her other hand still gripped the vial of hellebore.   
  
"May I ask if the contents of that vial were meant for me?" Snape asked her bluntly.   
  
"As long as you keep your mouth shut, I have no reason to kill you," Wraith reminded him, not turning. "And without good reason, I would not rob my Lord of your service or your loyalty. ––Besides, if I ever do decide to kill you, Severus," she added, "I promise you––you'll see it coming."   
  
Snape considered her and the way the shadows cast by the fire seemed to emphasize the hollows beneath her eyes. "Is the memory of your vampire worth the loss of your sanity?" he demanded of her.   
  
The vial in her hand exploded, raining blood along with the glass and poison to the ground.   
  
Snape's eyes narrowed as he took a step towards her. "You're cut––the poison––"   
  
"It's fine," Wraith said dully, "It won't kill me."   
  
Almost listlessly, she lifted her injured hand and carefully plucked shards of glass from her palm, letting them fall to the table. After a moment, the only trace of the wound was the blood pooling in her palm. Wraith conjured a cloth and cleaned her hand with it.   
  
"Are you certain it won't hurt you?" Snape asked curiously, taking another step towards her.   
  
"I didn't say it doesn't hurt," she retorted, her eyes upon the fire. The poison running under her skin burned. "But it won't kill me. After a few minutes, the poison will burn away with no ill effects."   
  
She hissed suddenly, bringing her arm to her chest. Snape hurried forward, thinking that it was the poison, but before he had reached her, he felt the Dark Mark upon his arm burn.   
  
Wraith glanced at him, seeing the way he gripped his arm. Their eyes met.   
  
The Dark Lord was calling them.   
  
  
  
  
"Ah," Voldemort said, turning towards the drawing room door. "Severus, how prompt."  
  
"He was already here, my Lord," Wraith explained, crossing immediately to her Lord.   
  
"Hm." The Dark Lord's hand shot out quickly, catching Wraith's wrist and turning her hand over. There were still traces of blood in the lines of her palm.   
  
"Just an accident, my Lord," Wraith said softly.   
  
Voldemort's eyes narrowed as they glanced at Snape. "It is as she says, my Lord," he said simply as the Dark Lord's eyes bored into his, "An accident."   
  
Seeing nothing in the surface of Snape's mind to counter the statement, Voldemort turned his eyes back to his Wraith. "You should be more careful, pet," he said rather bitingly.   
  
"Yes, my Lord," she said quietly. "Are we waiting on any others?"   
  
"Oh, yes," Voldemort said, sitting in his throne-like chair. "We have a little trouble within the Ministry. You remember the name you brought me a few weeks ago?"   
  
"Trevelyan," Wraith said. "Rabastan mentioned that he was an irritant, but didn't believe he was a danger."   
  
"Rabastan underestimated the man," Voldemort said, "as did I. He must be taken care of, my Wraith."   
  
"It's to be an execution then, my Lord?" Wraith asked softly, sitting at his feet.   
  
"Oh, yes," Voldemort told her, smiling unkindly.   
  
Wraith glanced sharply at Snape before she said, "I could go alone, if that is the case."   
  
"If it was only Trevelyan, then I would have already sent you," the Dark Lord said, "But he is the head of a growing group of wizards within the Ministry that must be dealt with tonight. But you are only to concern yourself with Trevelyan, do you understand?"   
  
"Yes, my Lord," Wraith said with a bowed head.   
  
Snape chose a seat near the fire, remaining silent. Wraith's eyes followed him; something that the Dark Lord noticed.   
  
"I take it that Severus has taken the opportunity to speak with you?" Voldemort said, drawing her attention back to him.   
  
"Yes, my Lord," Wraith replied.   
  
"And do you suppose that your dislike of one another would be a problem if I were to move you to Hogwarts?"   
  
Wraith leaned forward, resting her arms upon Voldemort's knee. "My Lord, I would share a cell in Azkaban with Gavin if it got me out of this place."   
  
Voldemort laughed darkly, running a hand over her raven hair. "A few more weeks here, my pet, and then you shall have a new home."   
  
Wraith nodded her head and moved back from the Dark Lord, her face bowed. For just a moment, Snape saw the pure relief upon her pale face before she recovered her mask.  
  
"Now, Severus," the Dark Lord said, looking to the man. "I've a specific target for you as well."  
  
"Yes, my Lord?"  
  
"Do you recall one Amos Diggory?"    
  
"I do," Snape said slowly, "Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, if I recall correctly."  
  
"Indeed," Voldemort said. "He has been a great agitation within the Ministry, one of the first that Trevelyan has 'recruited'. I want you to capture him, bring him back here alive."  
  
"As you say, my Lord," Snape said, bowing his head. "…Do you suppose it's for his son, that he does this?"  
  
"His son?" Voldemort repeated uninterestedly.   
  
"Cedric, I think his name was," Snape said. "He was a student of mine at Hogwarts…He was the other boy who touched the Triwizard Cup."  
  
" _Ah_ ," the Dark Lord smiled cruelly. "That's right…the spare. I'd almost forgotten. And Amos Diggory was his father. That would explain it. It's always good when they have a reason."   
  
Wraith suppressed a shiver at the cold delight in her Lord's voice.    
  
Voldemort glanced at the door as he heard the front doors open. "Up, my pet," he said to Wraith, gesturing to a chair beside him.   
  
Wraith rose and took the chair, her eyes also on the doorway. To her surprise, it was Harper who walked in first. The young Death Eater looked a touch thinner than he had the last time she'd seen him, but by his wide smile at the sight of her, his spirits were still high.   
  
Harper bowed low to the Dark Lord before he turned his attention to Wraith. "My Lady," he said with a crooked grin. He took her hand and placed a kiss upon it. Under the Dark Lord's eyes, he immediately released his hold of her and stepped back.  
  
"Harper," Wraith murmured in greeting. "Keeping out of trouble?"  
  
"Not hardly, my Lady," Harper said, his grin widening.   
  
Wraith rolled her eyes and gestured him away. Harper bowed once more and chose a seat a distance away.  
  
"That boy is cruelly depriving a village somewhere of an idiot," Snape murmured.   
  
Though she did not smile, Snape was interested to see the spark of humor flash through the Wraith's eyes at his statement.   
  
Their eyes met briefly as several more Death Eaters arrived. Wraith inclined her head just slightly in acknowledgment. Snape's brow rose in surprise, but he returned the nod nonetheless.


	84. Precipice

_"As men, we are all equal in the presence of death."_  
  
  
  
  
Two men walked quickly down the darken hall deep within the Ministry. One whispered urgently, very keen not to be overheard. "I'm not changing my mind, Trevelyan, I'm just saying that maybe we should keep things quiet for a few days. Rabastan Lestrange has been making noises about you, trying to get you dismissed."   
  
Trevelyan snorted impatiently as they reached the stairs.   
  
The other man felt his own patience wane. "Trevelyan, you  _know_  what that man is! You know who he answers to!"   
  
"Stop being such a coward, Croaker," Trevelyan said dismissively.   
  
They had reached the lift and stepped inside. A few minutes passed in silence as the lift brought them up to the fourth level.   
  
"All I'm saying," Croaker persisted in a low voice, "is that a little more caution would not go amiss."   
  
"Don't you understand?" Trevelyan hissed at him, eyes furious, "The Dark Lord's power grows daily! The time for caution is long past!"   
  
"I'm afraid I'll have to agree with you on that, Trevelyan," said a soft voice as the lift came to a stop.   
  
Both men froze, turning to stare in horror at the slim figure draped in a white cloak. Wraith reached up to lower her hood, her strange pale eyes almost glowing in the dim light.   
  
Trevelyan was the first to break free of his paralysis. Moving swiftly, he grabbed Croaker and pushed the man forcefully towards the Wraith. He actually managed to catch the girl by surprise. She caught Croaker by the shoulders, stopping them both from falling as Trevelyan sprinted down the hall.   
  
"Don't kill me!" Croaker begged as she shoved him away. Wraith ignored him as she turned to chase after Trevelyan.   
  
"He's running," she whispered, her voice carried magically to the ears of the others within the Ministry.   
  
A moment later, a Death Eater burst out of an empty office, cutting into Trevelyan's path. He sent a curse at the man, but Trevelyan dodged it and caught the Death Eater with a disarming charm as he passed.   
  
"Where are Snape and Macnair?" Wraith demanded as she reached him.   
  
"Dealing with Diggory and Mockridge," Jugson replied, hurrying to keep up with her. "They had their offices booby-trapped."   
  
Wraith hissed in annoyance and suddenly darted to the side as a section of the wall was blasted away. Jugson wasn't as lucky and got caught right at the temple. He crumpled to the ground beneath the rubble.   
  
Wraith left him.   
  
Trevelyan reached a corner and disappeared around it.  _You're not going to get away_ , Wraith thought dispassionately.   
  
As Trevelyan raced into another lift, he felt a slight cold wind on the back of neck. He turned on his heel and stumbled against the back of the lift, wand pointed at the empty air before him. Frowning, his eyes searched the shadows. Moving quickly, he closed the lift and it began to go down.   
  
  
  
  
"Rabastan," Wraith whispered. "He's going down. He'll stop on level six. Cut him off for me."   
  
Rabastan heard her and separated from the group waiting in the atrium.   
  
His brother gave him a quick look. "We're supposed to wait here," Rodolphus reminded him, "Stop people from escaping."   
  
Rabastan looked over his shoulder with a grin and tapped his ear. "I've new orders, brother mine."   
  
Rodolphus scowled, but did not stop Rabastan as the man hurried away. He glanced at his wife out of the corner of his eye. He was surprised to see her frowning pensively, one hand upon her stomach. "Something wrong?"   
  
"No," Bellatrix said shortly, straightening.   
  
  
  
  
Trevelyan was breathing a little easier as he brought the lift to a stop on the sixth level and stepped off. Glancing down the hallway, he saw no one from either side. Picking a direction at random, he began to run again, thinking to throw off those on his tail by picking another lift to take him to the atrium.   
  
But as he ran, he felt something hit his back hard enough to send him sprawling across the floor. Lifting his head and looking over his shoulder, he saw Rabastan Lestrange approaching with a wide and wicked grin.   
  
"Evening, Trevelyan," the Death Eater said casually. "Haven't caught you at a bad time, have I?"   
  
Trevelyan scowled and clambered to his feet, wand out. He threw a curse at Rabastan, who blocked it with some difficulty before sending a curse in return. It caught Trevelyan in the shoulder and he twisted as a sharp pain spread across his collarbone and down his arm. He shook his arm, feeling pins and needles like little fires under his skin. But he kept hold of his wand.   
  
He caught Rabastan with the Impediment Curse and the Death Eater fell back against the wall, his movement suddenly sluggish. Trevelyan grinned in success, but it wilted quickly as he felt that cold wind at his back again. He spun around to see the Wraith behind him. He pointed his wand at the ceiling, using a blasting curse to slow her down.   
  
Wraith hissed a curse as the man scrambled back to the lift and closed it. She paused to watch as it lifted him up rather than down. In an instant, she Disapparated to cut him off herself.   
  
  
  
  
The lift took Trevelyan up to the second level and he stumbled out of the doors as quickly as he could, running across the hall to the nearest door. He slammed it closed behind him and raced to another, hoping to put serious distance behind him.   
  
But when he ran into the next room, he was met by the Wraith, her strange eyes narrowed in clear annoyance at him. Behind her stood several other Death Eaters, their wands all pointed at him.   
  
"Going to stop running?" Wraith asked him bitingly.   
  
Trevelyan took a step back, a cold sweat slipping down his spine. He swallowed audibly and then ran back towards the door he had just entered.   
  
Wraith lifted a hand, power crackling in the air around her, but before she could send it after Trevelyan to stop him, she felt a sharp pain behind her eyes. Her power waned dangerously and she swayed, eyes rolling back into her head. She managed to remain standing, but it was a close thing.   
  
"Follow him!" she snapped at the Death Eaters behind her. They did as she commanded, rushing after Trevelyan and leaving her behind.   
  
Once they were gone, Wraith put a hand to her mouth as she coughed wetly. She tasted the blood on her tongue and grimaced. She spat the blood out with a deep scowl and took off after the others.   
  
  
  
  
Among the Death Eaters in hot pursuit of Trevelyan, Snape found himself in the lead. He dodged each curse that the man threw back at his hunters, but Trevelyan was also narrowly escaping the curses that Snape sent after him as well.   
  
Snape had to wonder just where the hell the Wraith was and why she'd allowed Trevelyan to run.   
  
They reached a section of hall that opened onto a view of the lower levels, separated by a railing. "Trevelyan!" Snape shouted after the man.  
  
The shout made Trevelyan pause momentarily––just long enough for Snape's next curse to catch him. Trevelyan let out a yell as the arm of his robes caught on fire. The man turned and fell back against the wall, struggling to put out the flames.   
  
Snape had almost reached him when Trevelyan threw another blasting curse. He aimed at the floor beneath Snape's feet. The floor cracked and crumbled and Snape suddenly found himself dangling a dangerously high distance above the atrium.   
  
Biting back a curse, he struggled to hang onto the edge of the precipice, reaching for where his wand had fallen. But before he could grab it, the other Death Eaters ran past in pursuit of Trevelyan. One managed to accidentally kick Snape's wand out of reach. None stopped to help him, but it did not surprise Snape in the slightest, though he did feel a surge of what could have been panic.   
  
His panic did not diminish as the Wraith appeared, running after Trevelyan and the Death Eaters.   
  
"Wraith!" Snape called out, reaching a hand towards her.   
  
She came to a slow stop, looking at him curiously as he clung for dear life to the still crumbling stone.   
  
"Help me," Snape asked of her swiftly.   
  
Wraith looked from him to where his wand lay several feet away and then back again. Snape did not like the clear calculation in her eyes.   
  
"I saved your life," he hissed through clenched teeth.   
  
Wraith slowly tilted her head to the side, remaining perfectly still.   
  
In that moment, Snape was certain that he was going to die.   
  
But Wraith suddenly knelt, grabbing his arm and pulling him up. He managed to get one knee up onto solid ground and breathed a sigh of relief before Wraith, still holding onto his arm, jerked him closer.   
  
Her lips grazed his ear as she whispered; "Now we're even."   
  
The whisper sent a chill of foreboding down Snape's spine. He jerked back quickly and met her eyes, searching for the true meaning behind her words. He was distracted by the touch of blood at the corner of her lips.   
  
Before he could react, Wraith pulled him to the side sharply, and he landed rather painfully beside where his wand lay. As he looked up, the Wraith had already gone.   
  
  
  
  
Trevelyan fell with a sharp cry of pain and slid across the smooth stone floor of the atrium. Bellatrix's Cruciatus Curse had the man screaming and writhing on the ground while she laughed delightedly. His screams echoed through the atrium and through the rest of the Ministry.   
  
Rodolphus and Dolohov were focused on a few wizards who had also attempted to escape through the fireplaces. Rodolphus stunned one of them, but the wizard Dolohov faced managed to send a stumbling hex at Bellatrix, making her fall.   
  
As soon as the curse was lifted from him, Trevelyan scrambled to his feet, turning back to the fireplaces. But as he watched, a figure appeared in front of the grate, blocking his path–– A figure in a white cloak.   
  
Wraith slowly held up a hand and snapped her fingers. The sound echoed as his screams had and suddenly the entire room fell silent. Trevelyan found that he was bound in place, unable to even shrug his shoulders or twitch a finger.   
  
"It's over," Wraith said softly, her words reaching every Death Eater throughout the Ministry. "Bring any prisoners to the atrium."   
  
There was a moment of silence before the lifts around the atrium sprang into life, bringing Death Eaters from around the building to the floor where Wraith waited.   
  
Snape arrived with Diggory in tow, the man bound tightly with ropes, bleeding heavily from a gash above his eye.   
  
The prisoners were brought to where Trevelyan stood, still frozen. The Death Eaters formed a circle around them.   
  
Wraith considered Trevelyan with cold eyes. "I  _told_  you not to be stupid," she reminded him. "You should have listened to me."   
  
Trevelyan found that he could speak. "You can lock us away," he whispered harshly as Wraith approached him. "You can torture us––but you'll never beat us."   
  
"You misunderstand," Wraith said softly. "Diggory is the only one the Dark Lord requested be returned alive."   
  
The flash of panic in Trevelyan's eyes was pure and almost painful to see. Wraith turned her gaze away from his, looking to where Snape stood. "Snape, Macnair––take Diggory to our Lord."   
  
Snape met her eyes and held them a moment, but he read nothing within hers. Macnair nodded shortly and took hold of Diggory's shoulder, pulling him away from the rest. He and Snape led the man to the fireplace behind Wraith and the flames grew and turned a bright emerald green. The three men disappeared into the fire.   
  
Wraith turned her attention back to Trevelyan, placing her hand upon his heart.   
  
"I couldn't live with myself," Trevelyan murmured under his breath. "Not after the warehouse."   
  
"I understand," Wraith whispered back. Only Trevelyan could hear her soft words. "But I hate that you've made this necessary."   
  
Their eyes met.   
  
"Close your eyes," Wraith instructed softly.   
  
Trevelyan did as she said. A moment later, he fell to the ground at her feet. He did not feel it. Wraith looked down at his lifeless form a moment and then turned her back on him.   
  
"Finish them," she ordered the Death Eaters grimly. She took a breath and was gone as a flash of green light went off behind her.


	85. Collide

_"To become aware of the possibility of the search is to be onto something."_  
  
  
  
  
As Wraith came to the front steps of the Manor, she scowled slightly to see Snape waiting at the doors to stop her. Her eyes locked with his and he was unsurprised to see the irritation clear in hers.   
  
"What?" she snapped at him as she reached the doors.   
  
"I apologize for inconveniencing you," he said mildly, "But I wished to thank you for your assistance."   
  
Wraith tilted her head to one side, considering him. "Hm. Perhaps I should have let you fall."   
  
"The same occurred to me at Hogwarts," he replied.   
  
The briefest smile flickered across her wane face. "Your thanks are not required," she told him, "I would think it would be in our best interests to consider our debts canceled."   
  
"I would agree," Snape said with the slightest nod. "As you said…now we are even."   
  
"Oh, good, now I can hate you in peace."   
  
She started past him, reaching for the door. She froze when Snape slowly reached a hand out to her. She turned to glare at him, but he gently brushed his thumb over the corner of her mouth, brushing something away. When Wraith saw the touch of red come away, she quickly brought her hand up to cover her lips, feeling the place he had touched. She had not noticed the trace of blood until then.   
  
"Thank you," she murmured, not looking at him.   
  
"It occurred to me that you would rather the Dark Lord not know how weakened you are."   
  
"You're right," she said. "If he knows I am weak, then he will not send me away from here to hunt. And I will be trapped again."   
  
"I take it that Trevelyan is dead?"   
  
Wraith closed her eyes a moment. "He is," she confirmed.   
  
"And the rest?"   
  
"I left them to the others," Wraith told him simply. "They were not my concern."   
  
Snape studied her and the shadows that had returned to haunt her eyes. "Shall we report to our Lord?" he said, opening the door, "He won't like to be kept waiting."  
  
But Wraith remained still a moment longer, making him look back at her.   
  
She took a step closer, touching a cold hand to his chin and turning his eyes to hers. Snape could think not figure her intentions. He took her hand and lowered it…but he did not release it.   
  
A strange sort of moment passed between them. Snape was tempted to call it understanding.   
  
"Do you ever think," Wraith said softly, "that one day you and I might end up killing each other?" She smiled just slightly, sadly. "That's the kind of world we live in, isn't it?"   
  
"It is," Snape agreed.   
  
"Hm, well perhaps Bella will beat you to it," Wraith said amiably. "She so desperately wants to end me."   
  
"I've no real desire to end your life," Snape told her.   
  
"But you not mourn my passing, would you?" Wraith asked him in return. Her eyes fell to the ground. "I wonder…if anyone would. What kind of legacy do you think we'll leave behind––in service to our Lord?"   
  
Snape lowered his eyes as well and was surprised to see that he still clasped her hand in his. "I do not think of it," he said.   
  
Down the path, they heard the remaining Death Eaters Apparate at the edge of the grounds. Snape released Wraith's hand and stepped back, gesturing silently for her to go inside. Wraith passed him, her eyes never lifting again from the ground as she hurried to the drawing room.   
  
Snape watched her go, remaining in the doorway a moment longer. There could be no denying that she hated him with a passion for what had happened with Vivaldi––But suddenly he was certain of something else…  
  
  
  
  
"She's not going to kill me."   
  
Dumbledore looked down at him in surprise. "What makes you say that?"   
  
"I've no idea," Snape said, shaking his head, "Just a feeling. An instinct, if you will." He fell silent, mulling it over. "She saved my life tonight, called us even, said our debts were canceled and she could hate me in peace. I did not like the sound of that, honestly…She asked me…what kind of legacy I thought we'd leave behind, the Death Eaters…  
  
"I cannot make  _sense_  of this girl!" he snapped suddenly, rising to his feet to pace the length of the office. "Every time that she commits an action that I think has finally shown her true character, she says or does something that completely contradicts it! The Dark Lord told me that she had  _suggested_  that she be sent after the Order and anyone else he wanted gone––I thought that was it, she's shown her true colors and revels in her role as Lady Death––and then I am forced to recall the look on her face…after the Dark Lord had her heal McGonagall."   
  
Snape lifted a hand to his cheek, remembering too the sharp slap and the cuts she'd left in the wake of it.   
  
Dumbledore watched him closely, intrigued by the way the Wraith seemed to get under Snape's skin. "I wish I could see more of the girl," the portrait said simply.   
  
"You may get your chance," Snape replied darkly. "The Dark Lord wants to move her here."   
  
"Here? Why?"   
  
"He's finally admitted that there is something haunting his Wraith within the Manor," Snape said. "He wants her out of there well before June…If I didn't know any better, I'd say he was afraid of something."   
  
"But  _here_ , Severus…"   
  
"I know," he said, rubbing a hand over tired eyes, "It's going to make my life exceedingly difficult to have her here in my shadow…as if my life wasn't difficult enough already."    
  
  
  
  
It was nearly two weeks later that Wraith finally emerged from her tower. If there was any sign of her weakness, she hid it well.   
  
Within the drawing room the Dark Lord waited, along with several of his Death Eaters. Wraith stepped into the room, her eyes quickly taking who was there and who was not. Snape was not among those gathered, but the three Lestranges were. Wraith was displeased to see Bellatrix and her husband, though she had come to count on Rabastan to a certain degree. Eager as he was to please her, he was rather useful when their missions coincided. She gave him the shortest of nods before she took her seat beside the Dark Lord.   
  
Voldemort reached a hand in an absentminded gesture to brush her cheek. She leaned into his touch just slightly, her eyes closed. Inside she trembled to keep herself together. Wraith had been avoiding direct contact with her Lord, not that he seemed to notice, for she felt that she would slip and reveal something to him that she was so desperate to keep hidden. Thankfully, Voldemort had been well distracted as of late and Wraith was able to keep her distance.   
  
"One of our spies has discovered another safe-house of the Order," Voldemort told those assembled. "Thanks to the information we have taken from Hestia Jones, we know how to get in. I want this hive utterly destroyed. Let no witch or wizard escape from it. My enemies have a tendency to divide and multiply when attacked. I want this to be quick," he added, his inhuman eyes turning to his Wraith, "efficient."   
  
Wraith met his eyes and held them, silently assuring him that there would be no mistakes. The Death Eaters during the Ministry raid had come to follow her orders as they would the Dark Lord's. She had no doubt they would do the same again.   
  
Voldemort's eyes shifted away from hers as terse whispers reached their ears. Wraith turned as well, to see who it was. "Is there something you wish to add, Rodolphus?" Voldemort asked, cutting across the man's whispering to his wife.   
  
Rodolphus lifted his head and started to speak, but Bellatrix spoke over him. "It's nothing, my Lord."   
  
Rodolphus scowled at his wife and spoke anyway. "My Lord, may I request that my  _wife_  remain behind for this mission?"   
  
" _Rodolphus_!," Bella hissed at him.   
  
Voldemort gave them both an arched look. "You would have to have a very good reason, Rodolphus. I do not have time for your marital spats."   
  
Rodolphus turned to his wife. "Tell him."   
  
Bellatrix opened and closed her mouth twice, seemingly unable to articulate. Knowing it was of little use to argue, she turned her eyes to the Dark Lord. "My Lord…I am…pleased… to announce that…I am with child."   
  
Wraith glanced sharply at the woman, but her eyes fell to Bellatrix's stomach.   
  
 _Child…will you be my enemy as your mother is?_    
  
As if Bellatrix could hear her thoughts, she caught Wraith's eye and frowned deeply.   
  
"This is good news," Voldemort said, drawing both women's attention back to him, "A new generation of pure-blood. You have our congratulations, Rodolphus, Bella." He looked to Rodolphus, "So you wish to keep your wife safe in keeping her behind?"   
  
"My Lord," Bellatrix said quickly, very nearly interrupting him, "I can protect myself. I will be in no danger tonight. My  _husband_  is being overly cautious."   
  
Voldemort leaned towards Wraith. "What is your opinion, my Wraith? You will, in essence, be leading them, after all."   
  
Wraith considered the older woman, who was trying very hard not to glare back at her.   
  
"If I were Bellatrix, I would remain behind," Wraith said slowly, "However––loath as I am to be caged, I will not cage another. Let Bellatrix decide if she wishes to put her unborn child in danger and suffer her husband's wrath."   
  
Bellatrix's eyes narrowed, but she kept her mouth shut. Wraith had handed her a double-sided sword––On the one hand, Bella was free to make her choice––but on the other, if something  _did_  happen to her that hurt her unborn baby, then she would have no one else but herself to cast blame upon.   
  
"We're wasting time," Wraith said softly. She looked to her Lord. "Where are we to be sent?"    
  
  
  
  
The forest that surrounded the ramshackle three-story house blocked any trace of moonlight from revealing the presence of the threat approaching. The Death Eaters moved quickly, but in near silence as they approached the house. Wraith had the lead, her usual white cloak turned black by a touch of magic so that she would not shine like a beacon in the night.   
  
At the edge of trees, just before the terrace, Wraith paused, holding up a slender hand to bring the assemblage to a stop.   
  
"Windows are dark," Rabastan whispered, "Are we certain this is the place?"   
  
"They're in there," Wraith whispered back, eyes closed as her power slipped through the house like a soft wind. "No one on the ground floor––seven on the first, one at the window there, no doubt playing the guard––five more on the second floor––twelve altogether. Alright," she murmured, turning to them, "The Dark Lord wants this done quick and easy, so that's how it's going to be. No games," she said bluntly, her eyes drifting to Bellatrix. "Don't play with them, just kill them."   
  
She glanced over each face and then looked back to the house. "Rodolphus, Bellatrix, Rabastan and Dolohov, go around back to the other door and wait for my signal. The rest of you stay with me. I'm going to put a shield over the house so that they can't escape out the windows." She gestured to the Lestranges and Dolohov. "You four––go." She waited until they had disappeared around the side of the house before she spoke again. "The rest of you, to the front door. I'll distract the guard."   
  
"What's the signal?" Lucius Malfoy asked softly.   
  
"When they panic," Wraith replied simply.   
  
The remaining Death Eaters moved in silence and shadows to the terrace, waiting at the front door. Wraith stood at the edge of the trees and took a breath, extending her power to cover the whole of the building, focusing upon the windows and doors.   
  
Then she took a step forward, the black of her cloak bleeding away to its usual ghostly white. She lifted her masked face to the window where the guard still stood. Through the grimly glass, she knew the moment he realized she was there.   
  
He scrambled away from the window and Wraith heard him shout–– " _They've come! Scatter_!"   
  
At the yell, Wraith nodded sharply to the Death Eaters and they burst into the house, spreading out like fire on dry wood. Wraith entered the house just after them, seeing with satisfaction that the Lestranges and Dolohov had burst into the back door at the exact moment they had the first.   
  
"First floor!" she ordered swiftly, "You two stay here," she pointed at random, "catch those that reach the stairs."   
  
She reached the stairs first and rose quickly to the first floor. She was met by a wizard with dark hair and eyes and a scruffy beard on the landing. He froze, wand in hand, for only a moment before he threw a stunning curse at her. The red light caught her shoulder, but had no effect.  Wraith reached out, skimming her fingertips to his chest. The wizard's eyes rolled up into his head and he fell to the ground, unmoving.   
  
Swallowing back the bile in her throat, Wraith stepped over the body.   
  
It went as quickly as the Dark Lord had asked. Wraith was careful to conserve her power, keeping the shield up and the targets trapped within, and left most of the killing to the other Death Eaters. But by the time she had moved up to the second story, she had left three bodies in her wake.   
  
She heard the sound of shattered glass in several places within the house and the shouts when they realized that something kept them from jumping through the windows.   
  
As Wraith stepped into what looked like a deserted room, she was caught by someone hitting her hard from behind. She fell forward and hit the ground hard, her attacker holding her down. He'd pinned her hands to the floor, grasping her by the wrists.   
  
But he only had a moment to feel a vague sense of triumph before a strong and cold wind pushed him away from her. His back slammed against the wall, but despite the pain he must have felt, he quickly scrambled to his feet, wand out.   
  
Wraith turned on him with a hiss and was in front of him before he'd even realized that she'd moved. Her palm pressed against his chest, he felt his heart lurch with deep pain. He lifted his eyes to stare at the expressionless mask she wore and from behind that mask Wraith found herself staring into his eyes.   
  
She stumbled back as if she'd been burned.   
  
The wizard stared at her, uncomprehending. Wraith lifted a hand and removed her mask.   
  
Their eyes met.   
  
Wraith couldn't have named the emotion that swarmed her, suffocating her pounding heart and ringing in her ears––but whatever it was, it kept her from crossing the distance between them and finishing him. Time seemed frozen between them. Wraith read the confusion and utter bewilderment in the wizard's eyes, and somehow knew that whatever she was feeling, he was most certainly feeling it too.   
  
He was young, little older than her, his dark blonde hair hanging to his shoulders, a short beard covering his chin. But it was his eyes that Wraith could not look away from. In that frozen time, Wraith took in every detail of those hazel eyes, each speck of green and grey within them.   
  
She saw him lift a shaking hand and his lips parted to speak––but heavy footsteps on the stairs just outside the door shattered the moment that hung in the air between them. They both looked to the door in sheer panic––one fearing death, the other discovery.   
  
Wraith stumbled back until she was pressed against the opposite wall. Her eyes flew back to his and held them. "Go," she all but whispered.   
  
He hesitated, trapped by her stare. But as several figures reached the door, he ran to the window, shattering it and leaping out, unencumbered by the charm Wraith had set to prevent just that. Wraith  _felt_  the moment that he Disapparated away.   
  
She also felt the stares of the Death Eaters in the doorway. Her eyes rolled up into her head as she slipped to the floor in a faint.


	86. A Familiar Stranger

_"Stranger, if you passing meet me and desire to speak to me, why should you not speak to me? And why should I not speak to you?"_  
  
  
  
  
Wraith stood outside the Dark Lord's tower door. She trembled, so very afraid to take that last step and enter the room. Her hands clenched and unclenched at her sides, her nails digging deep into her palms.   
  
"Enter."   
  
Wraith winced, but took a breath to try and steady herself as she slipped through the door and closed it behind her. She turned to see the Dark Lord standing behind his desk, framed by the fire behind him. Her eyes flickered to the side only briefly to see that Snape was also in the room, standing beside the window.   
  
Moving rather jerkily, Wraith walked towards the desk, stopping a few feet from it. She dared to lift her eyes only a moment to meet Voldemort's, but the fury she saw in her master's eyes had her dropping to one knee before him. Bowing her head, she bit down hard on her lower lip, briefly drawing blood.   
  
"Well?" It was all he had to say.  
  
"I failed, my Lord," came her whispered reply. "I am sorry."  
  
"I gave specific orders that every one of those maggots were to be killed," Voldemort reminded her. "Was I not clear enough, my Wraith?"  
  
Wraith silently shook her head, not lifting her eyes from the floor. "Your orders were clear, my Lord," she told him, her voice trembling. "It was I who failed in following them."   
  
"Stand," he commanded. She lifted her head briefly, uncertainty in her broken eyes, but did as he ordered. Once she was on her feet, Voldemort came around the desk, put a hand under her chin and raised her eyes to his. "Who is the boy?"  
  
"…I don't know." Her voice was almost inaudible. She couldn't tear her eyes from his.   
  
Her fear was palpable. Snape could all but taste it from across the room. He watched the exchange between master and servant in perfect silence, rather hoping that they would both forget he was even there. Snape had never seen the Wraith so very shaken, not even when she had been ordered to heal McGonagall. Her confusion was as clear as her terror of the Dark Lord. She was completely off balance.   
  
Voldemort lashed out, taking her arm in a viselike grip. "Do not lie to Lord Voldemort!" he hissed at her. "Who is he? What is he to you?"  
  
"I DON'T KNOW!" The words exploded from her, as though ripped from her throat, as she pulled herself free of his hand and turned her back to him.   
  
A moment of heavy silence fell. Voldemort and Snape both stared at her back, shocked by her exclamation.   
  
Wraith let out a shuddering gasp and pressed a hand to her mouth.   
  
"Leave us."  
  
Though Voldemort did not look at him, Snape understood that he did not mean for Wraith to leave. He bowed to the Dark Lord and swept from the room, glancing briefly at Wraith's face as he passed her. Her eyes were wide with shock at her actions, and horror at what they both knew was yet to come.   
  
As the door closed behind Snape, Wraith spun and fell to her knees before Voldemort, bowing her head low. "I'm sorry," she whispered.  
  
"Failure is not acceptable," Voldemort told her, gazing down at her with apathy, "Not even from you, my dearest girl."  
  
"My Lord, please forgive me."  
  
"All in due time," Voldemort murmured as reaching down to run a hand over her raven hair, "In due time, my pet."  
  
  
  
  
Snape had only reached the bottom of the tower stairs when Wraith's screams echoed from the tower above. He winced slightly, stopping where he stood to gaze back up the stairs.   
  
He had believed the girl when she'd claimed not to know who the boy was and some insatiably curious part of him sent him downstairs to the drawing room where several of his fellow Death Eaters had gathered.   
  
Outside the door, he chose not to enter. Rather, he leaned against the wall beside the door and listened. He was unsurprised to her Bellatrix Lestrange's whispers.   
  
"It was no accident," the woman hissed to the others, who were hanging on her every word. "We saw her––she simply let the boy run past her."  
  
"S' more than that," Avery said slowly. "That charm she did, that shield, it kept everybody else trapped inside when they tried to go out them windows. The fact that it didn't stop 'im says that she did it a' purpose. She let 'im go."     
  
"Who was he?" Rowle asked in a low rumble.  
  
"Oh, you'll love this," Rodolphus said with a soft chuckle. "If my eyes weren't deceiving me…It was your beloved nephew, Rowle."   
  
Snape heard the large blonde man scoff. "My sainted little brother's whelp," Rowle sneered. "Pity I didn't get a chance to snuff him out when I did his dear old parents."   
  
" _Shh_!"  Bellatrix hissed suddenly. They all fell silent. Snape realized why when he too heard the faint echoing sound of the Wraith's screams from above.   
  
Bellatrix let out a delighted breathless laugh. "Oh, now that is music to my ears," the woman said sweetly. "I've been waiting for this for a long time. Perhaps he'll kill her."  
  
"I doubt it," Snape heard Rabastan say. The younger Lestrange brother sounded much put out. "Come now, sister dear, with everything else the girl has managed to accomplish for the Dark Lord, you don't honestly think he'll kill her over this one mistake?"  
  
"Depends on how much that mistake will cost him," Rodolphus said simply. "The Rowle boy has caused quite a bit of fuss since his parents' deaths. When the Dark Lord finds out just who the boy was, he's not going to be any happier with his pet Wraith."   
  
Snape had heard enough. He stepped away from the drawing room door and made his way outside. He had a sudden need for fresh air.  
  
So the boy had been Edwin Rowle. Snape actually remembered him vaguely. He'd been in Hufflepuff, if Snape remembered right. The boy had had a fair amount of skill when it came to Potions, unlike many of his classmates.  
  
With a tired sigh, Snape looked back to the Manor. It was unlikely the Dark Lord would need him again that night. But he had the urge to remain a little longer. His eyes drifted to the Dark Lord's tower. Was the girl still being punished or had she been released?   
  
 _Only one way to find out_ , he thought darkly as he climbed the front steps.   
  
  
  
  
Snape knew when he reached the top of the Wraith's tower that she had been released by the Dark Lord. He stopped and listened a moment before knocking. A soft melody drifted from the room behind the door, he belatedly recognized it as  _Greensleeves_. It was the same melody he'd heard that night that Vivaldi had said his goodbyes to Wraith.   
  
Snape knocked upon the door, gently but firmly. There was no answer. He waited a minute more before he knocked again.   
  
"Go away, Severus." She sounded exhausted, her voice rough and scrapped raw from her screaming.   
  
"Don't you want to know his name?" he asked her simply, "The boy's?"   
  
There was a moment of silence before Snape heard the door unlock. Taking it as an invitation, he stepped inside.   
  
Wraith was sitting on the edge of her bed, clinging to the bedpost to keep herself upright. There was blood at the corner of her mouth and just under her nose. Her eyes were so shadowed that they looked bruised and she was deathly pale. "How do you know?" she asked as he closed the door behind him.   
  
"Rodolphus Lestrange recognized him," Snape replied. "We've dealt with him before. He's apparently been quite a nuisance in the past."   
  
Wraith closed her eyes a moment as if gathering patience. "Who is he?"   
  
"His name is Edwin Rowle."   
  
Wraith's pain-laced frown deepened. "The name means nothing to me," she realized softly. "Wait," she added, looking up, "Did you say _Rowle_?"   
  
"I did," Snape said. "He's Thorfinn Rowle's nephew, the only son of his younger brother. Edwin and his father both chose not to follow the family tradition in supporting the Dark Lord, quite the reverse in fact. They've both fought wholeheartedly against our Lord. And when Thorfinn killed his brother and sister-in-law, his nephew fought all the harder."   
  
Wraith put a hand to her head, shaking it slightly. "This is all  _nothing_  to me," she said incredulously. "I––I'd never seen him before. I…I don't understand." Her voice broke slightly at the end.   
  
Snape considered her, mulling a tidbit of information over in his mind. "Wraith, do you recall the young woman from  _Questionable Virtue_?"   
  
"You mean Clara Bauman?" Wraith asked, frowning at the abrupt change of subject. "What about her?"   
  
"What did you two speak of?"   
  
"Nothing," Wraith said after a moment of thought, "Nothing of consequence, at least." She scowled up at Snape. "What does this have to do with anything?" she asked with clear suspicion.   
  
"Nothing," Snape said, "just…idle curiosity."   
  
Wraith's scowl deepened. "Get out," she said shortly.   
  
The tiniest smirk pulled at Snape's lips as he bowed his head to her and left her alone.   
  
Wraith listened to his footsteps descending the stairs. When she could not longer hear them, she forced herself to stand despite the echo of pain in her bones. Crossing to the window, she touched a gentle hand to Hesper's feathered head. The owl hooted softly, his eyes cracking open to look at her.   
  
 _I'm not going to get any answers unless I find them myself_ , Wraith realized bitterly.      
  
  
  
  
Edwin Rowle was exhausted as he strode into his room. He took the bag slung over his shoulder and tossed it at his bed without looking. When he heard someone catch it, he turned on his heel, wand out and a jinx on his lips.   
  
But the jinx died there as he recognized the tall lanky young woman lounging in his bed.   
  
"Christ, Clara."   
  
"You know, most men would be excited to see a beautiful woman in their bed."   
  
Edwin raised an eyebrow at her and crossed to the bed, leaning one hand upon the mattress. "I'd probably be more excited if the girl in question wasn't madly in love with someone else." He kissed her forehead and then straightened.   
  
"Oh, you and your logic," Clara said with a sigh, "It has no place here." She sat up, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. "How is Aly?" she asked hesitantly.   
  
Edwin tossed Clara a curious look. "You  _could_  write to her, you know. Ask her yourself." When Clara simply pouted prettily at him, he sighed. "She's doing alright," he replied with a shrug. "She's dug her heels in, refuses to leave Hogsmeade. She should be alright there, though."   
  
"That's good, I guess," Clara mumbled. "What about you?" she asked then, "How're you doing, Ed?"   
  
"Oh, I'm just  _dandy_ ," he said, sarcasm dripping from his voice.   
  
Clara scoffed slightly, "Cheer up, Ed. You're not dead yet."   
  
"Clare, you philosopher, you."   
  
Clara studied her friend's face and saw the shadows there. "Seriously," she said, standing, "are you okay?"   
  
Edwin sighed again and rubbed a hand over his eyes. "Since you're here, I take it that you've heard about the safe-house?"   
  
"Yeah," Clara said softly, "…I heard you had a brush with Death herself. But hey, you escaped, didn't you?"   
  
"No––I didn't."   
  
Clara frowned, crossing to stand with him at the window. "What do you mean?" she asked.   
  
"I didn't escape, Clare," Edwin told her, "She let me go."   
  
" _Did_  she?" Clara's eyes were bright with curiosity. "Why?"   
  
"I don't know," he said simply, staring out the window at the fog. "Clara, I really don't know. She was about to kill me," he said, pressing a hand to his heart, "I felt her grab my heart in my chest, I haven't felt that kind of pain outside of the Cruciatus Curse. But then she just…stopped."   
  
He pressed his forehead to the glass, closing his eyes. "There was this moment when our eyes met," he whispered, "I couldn't move…couldn't look away. I could barely breathe. All I could see was those pale blue eyes staring back at me. And I knew…I knew she wouldn't hurt me…and I knew that I couldn't hurt her."   
  
"Whoa," Clara breathed.   
  
"It's so  _stupid_ ," Edwin said with a half a laugh. "It's insane. I think McGonagall thinks I've lost my mind. The look on her face when I told her…and that  _fucking bitch_  Nicole Meadows has the gall to accuse me of being a traitor!"   
  
Clara scowled and rolled her eyes. "Vile, she is," the girl muttered. "She's completely gaga, if you ask me."   
  
"I wouldn't argue," Edwin said softly, "and I think McGonagall agrees with us. Meadows is going to be trouble, one of these days."   
  
"McGonagall didn't believe her, then?"   
  
"No," Edwin said, shaking his head. "For whatever reason, she believed me, crazy as I must have sounded."   
  
"Well, she's run into the Wraith before herself, hasn't she?"   
  
"And you have too," Edwin reminded her, suddenly looking at his friend with new eyes.   
  
Clara met his eyes and saw the questions burning in them. "I liked her," she told him simply. "I liked her a lot…She was this tiny, sad little thing under all that power. I don't think I've ever seen anyone so lonely. But Edwin…I'm not exactly an active member in the Order anymore…you are. To the Order, she's dangerous and she's deadly. Hestia Jones, Professor Slughorn…everyone knows that she's the one that hunted them down."   
  
"I know," Edwin said, rather sharply. "It was probably from Hestia that the Death Eaters got the location of the safe-house." He hit his fist against the wall, letting his frustration out on it. "But if she's so dangerous, if she's so deadly, then why aren't I dead?" he demanded. "She killed everyone else she met there…why not  _me_? And why couldn't I hurt her?"   
  
Clara came up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her cheek on his shoulder. "I don't know, Ed," she whispered, "I just don't know."   
  
"Funny thing is, I don't  _she_  does either," Edwin said softly.   
  
They both jumped as an owl appeared suddenly in the window, tapping its beak against the glass, demanding to be let in.   
  
"Probably from McGonagall," Edwin said tiredly, opening the window.   
  
The owl landed on his shoulder, letting him untie the letter rolled around its leg. The owl flew back out the window as soon as Edwin had the letter in his hands. Edwin frowned after it, but turned his attention to the letter.   
  
Clara watched as his eyes softened as he read.   
  
"So," he murmured, "that's how it's going to be."   
  
"Ed, what is it?"   
  
"I have to go," he said shortly.   
  
"But Ed, what––?" Clara watched with bewildered eyes as her oldest friend disappeared from the room without another word.


	87. Dearest Agony

_"When you helped somebody, right away you were responsible for that person. And things always followed for which you were never prepared."_  
  
  
  
The place was nowhere, just a lonely stretch of forest, perfectly still in the late hour of the night. Edwin stepped into the small moonlit grove, waiting as he searched the darkness around him.   
  
"I'm surprised."   
  
He turned at the sound of her soft voice. Wraith stood at the far end of the trees, meeting his eyes across the grove as she lowered the hood of her cloak.   
  
"Surprised?" Edwin repeated, "That I came?"   
  
"That you came alone," Wraith clarified. "I was sure you'd think my letter was a trap."   
  
"If you wanted to kill me, you'd have done it back at the safe-house," Edwin said.   
  
Wraith was silent, though her eyes never left his face. She could think of no reply to that.   
  
"So why didn't you?" he asked her.   
  
"…I don't know," she replied softly.   
  
She looked so very lost that Edwin had the sudden urge to cross to her, simply to touch her. He bit down on that urge, hard. Wraith wrapped her arms over her chest as if she were cold.   
  
"Do you know me?" she asked him plainly. "I would swear that I've never met you before…but…"   
  
"But we recognized each other, didn't we?" Edwin said, the corner of his mouth twisting. Again, Wraith had no reply. "You know my name," he said.   
  
"I didn't," Wraith told him, "one of the others recognized you."   
  
Edwin frowned just slightly at her. "What's  _your_  name? Your real name?"   
  
"Wraith, it's just Wraith."   
  
"That's your real name?"   
  
"Closest thing to," Wraith replied with the smallest of smiles. But though it gave Edwin a spark of pleasure to see it, the smile faded quickly. "What am I doing here?" Wraith murmured, bringing her hands up to cover her face a moment. "What the hell is wrong with me?"   
  
"My mind's running along the same track, trust me," Edwin said, rubbing a hand over his eyes.   
  
"He's going to kill me if I ever finds out I met with you," Wraith whispered, speaking more to herself than to him.   
  
Edwin dropped his hand to stare at her. "Get you into trouble, did I?" he asked with a slight crooked smile.   
  
"Yes," Wraith said simply.   
  
Edwin could all but hear the echo of pain in her voice and for whatever reason, hated how she'd turned her eyes away as if ashamed. He'd taken a step towards her without realizing it, hesitated, and then with a shake of his head, he crossed the grove to her. As he reached her, Wraith quickly stepped back.   
  
"I'm not going to hurt you," Edwin told her slowly, holding a hand out. "Whatever it is that stops you from killing me…it stops me too. Listen," he said when she only continued to watch him warily, "You've no reason to trust me and I've no reason to trust you. I watched you and your friends kill my allies, people I'd tried to protect. I should hate you for what you are and what you've done."   
  
Wraith closed her eyes, turning her head away. Edwin took the opportunity to close the distance between them, placing is hand along her cheek. A sigh escaped Wraith's lips as she turned her eyes up to his.   
  
"I could hate what you are," Edwin told her softly, "but never you." He brought his free hand to her other cheek, cradling her face. "I want to know what this is between us…don't you?"   
  
It would have been easy, Wraith thought, so very easy to close that distance and take what he offered her for no other reason that the strange connection between them.   
  
But instead, Wraith took his hands in hers and pushed them away from her face, stepping back as she firmly shut her eyes. Edwin kept back as she seemed to collect herself.   
  
After a moment, Wraith opened her eyes once more. They were as hard as diamond when they met his. "We're on opposite sides of a war, Edwin Rowle," she said brusquely, "Whatever  _this_  is…it ends here." Wraith quickly turned on her heel, disappearing into the night.   
  
"You don't believe that anymore than I do," Edwin said softly to the shadows.  
  
  
  
  
Wraith slipped back into her tower room, one hand under her nose to staunch the flow of blood. She cursed the headache that pounded behind her eyes and she cursed herself for being stupid enough to Apparate twice after the Dark Lord had taken so much from her in punishment.   
  
It wasn't until she had closed the door and locked it that she realized she wasn't alone. Wraith turned slowly and saw with a sharp shot of fear the Dark Lord sitting in his chair near the fire. His inhuman eyes flashed to hers. Her bloodied hand fell to her side, but other than that she did not move.   
  
"My Lord," she said softly, her voice a harsh whisper.   
  
"Where did you go, Wraith?"   
  
The question seemed to break her paralysis. With something that could have been a sigh, she turned and crossed to her bedside. She took a handkerchief from the drawer and used it to wipe the blood from her face as best she could. "Nowhere," she said at last. "I was nowhere, my Lord."   
  
"Such lies, my pet," Voldemort said, the cadence of his voice brooking danger. "Tell me where you went."   
  
"Or what?" she demanded before she could stop herself. She winced at her stupidity and then fell her legs give out beneath her. With a soft groan, she fell to the side of the bed, one hand clinging to the bedding to keep herself upright. Her other hand was pressed tightly against her forehead as if she could stem the pain.   
  
The Dark Lord watched her, gave no reaction to her pain. "Where did you go, Wraith?" he asked again, his tone unchanging.   
  
Wraith gritted her teeth and fought to stand once more. "I had to think," she told him sharply. "I can never think clearly here. I had to get away."   
  
She felt him come up behind her and take her by the shoulders. He turned her 'round to face him and she had neither the energy nor the will to fight him, not even on principle as she normally would have.   
  
She lifted her eyes to his. "…If you punishment me more, my Lord, you'll kill me," she told him bluntly. She tilted her head to one side. "Are you going to kill me?"   
  
"Perhaps I should," Voldemort hissed. "If, perhaps, I brought you to the brink of death you would not be so quick to disobey me!"   
  
"You gave me no instructions to remain here," Wraith reminded him, goading him.   
  
"And you did not ask my permission!"   
  
" _You cage me_!" Wraith cried suddenly. "You took me from that miserable cell in Azkaban only to chain me to yourself!  _I cannot breathe_!"   
  
Voldemort's face twisted with fury and his grip upon her shoulders became painful. With a snarl, he threw her to the side so that she fell ungracefully onto the bed. "You think you're caged now?" Voldemort demanded, hovering over her like a nightmare. "You think you cannot breathe? You've no idea how low I could bring you, my  _Wraith_ …" He stretched her name out into a low and dangerous hiss.   
  
Wraith lay still upon the bed, save for her trembling. Her mind was a whirlwind, unfocused and hectic behind her eyes.   
  
Voldemort, his face still shining with his rage, suddenly stopped and studied her; the harsh unevenness to her breathing, the way her limbs began to twitch erratically though she was obviously trying to remain still.   
  
The Dark Lord frowned at her, but his fury seemed to be replaced with curiosity. He bent, taking hold of her arm, twisting her around and lifting her slightly from the bed. She moved like a rag doll, completely unresisting. He could  _feel_  her thin muscles spasm beneath her skin. Looking at her face, he realized that she no longer saw the room around her, at least not clearly.   
  
With a sneer, he released her arm, letting her fall back to the bed in a lump. He looked down at her like a spoilt child would a toy he had broken. He wondered if he  _had_  broken her completely.   
  
After a moment's consideration, he decided that she would likely recover. With an irritated sigh, he turned his back on her.   
  
" _Yet all things must die_."   
  
Voldemort glanced back at her, frowning deeply. Her eyes were still unfocused, her voice clouded by some irrational delusion, no doubt. But he stopped to listen nonetheless.   
  
" _The stream will cease to flow; the wind will cease to blow; the clouds will cease to fleet; the heart will cease to beat; for all things must die_."   
  
Voldemort felt the slightest sense of foreboding, a sort of chill run down his spine. The poem had a familiar ring to it, she had most certainly read it somewhere in the past––But why repeat it now? What brought it to the focus of her unraveled mind?   
  
"Sleep," he said firmly, not knowing if she could even hear him. "Sleep and recover, my Wraith, or else you will be of no use to me."   
  
Whether she'd actually heard him or not, the girl's eyes fluttered closed as he watched. He hissed in annoyance and gestured to the fireplace. The fire abruptly went out, dousing all trace of light within the room.   
  
He left her there in the darkness.   
  
  
  
  
Snape stood before the fireplace within the Headmaster's office. Rowle's disembodied head hung in the flames, his brusque face twisted by some worry.   
  
"There's a rumor circling 'round that she's dead, Snape," Rowle said, his voice low, "That there ain't naught but a body up in that tower. It's been three days since she's been seen. Haven't sent food or water up there neither."   
  
"Are you so concerned for the Wraith, Rowle?"   
  
"I'm concerned for the Dark Lord's temper," Rowle snapped. "It's over  _my_  bloody nephew that all this started. I don't want him turning 'round and making a corpse out of me!"   
  
"And what do you expect  _me_  to do about all of this?"   
  
"The Dark Lord's gone off somewhere––won't be back till nightfall. If  _you_  went to check on her…well, you're less likely to get in trouble for it, ain't you?"   
  
"The Wraith has a very keen hatred of me," Snape said simply, "If I went knocking on her door, she'd likely throw me down the steps."   
  
"Well, at least then we'd know she's alive."   
  
"…I'll think on it," Snape said at last. He flicked his wand at the fireplace and Rowle was pushed out of the fire and away.   
  
"Severus…"   
  
"I take it you were awake to hear all of that?" Snape asked, turning to the portrait.   
  
"Are you going to see?" Dumbledore asked.   
  
"I think that I'd better," Snape replied dryly. "With everyone too afraid to even climb the tower steps. What a mess this has all turned out to be. And all over some boy she doesn't even know…"  
  
"You're  _certain_  that she and Edwin had never met?"   
  
"As far as I know," Snape said, leaning against the desk. "I've never seen her so rattled, Dumbledore. I'm almost afraid that she looking for him after I gave her his name.  _That_  could have very well pushed the Dark Lord into killing her at last."   
  
"You don't want her death on your conscious."   
  
Snape had no reply for that, at least none that he was willing to speak aloud. With a sigh, he grabbed his travel cloak and had disappeared through the door.   
  
Dumbledore smiled after him.   
  
  
  
  
Snape was quite surprised to find that the Wraith's tower door was unlocked. It also made him very wary of what he was going to find on the other side of it. The girl had  _never_  left the door unlocked, except when she expected the Dark Lord's company.   
  
He pushed the door open a crack, saw that there was no fire and no other source of light save for the thin sunlight peering in from the tall windows. It gave the room a rather abandoned sort of air.   
  
Snape continued to push the door open cautiously, his eyes searching the shadows for the girl. "…Wraith?" he called as he stepped inside. "Lady Wraith?"   
  
There was no answer.   
  
Something inside Snape seemed to tie itself into tight knots. He crossed to the bed, where the pale sunlight had revealed someone lying upon it. "Wraith?" he said softly, seeing her lie so still upon the bed's surface. He slowly reached down to touch her arm and a sigh of what could have been relief escaped him.   
  
She wasn't as still as she seemed, but was trembling so softly that it was not visible in the dim light. She was breathing.  _She wasn't dead_.   
  
"Wraith," Snape said, more insistent this time as he shook her shoulder gently. "Child, can you hear me?"   
  
She did not even stir. Snape scowled down at her, but reached for the blanket the girl was lying on rather than under. She had to be cold, Snape thought, three days without a fire. As Snape covered her with the blanket, his eyes fell upon the desk…the one that the Wraith so meticulously guarded…   
  
He hesitated only a moment before he quietly made his way over to it. Perhaps in her exhaustion, she had not locked it this time. Perhaps he'd find the reason for the hellebore he'd found two weeks before. Snape reached out for the drawer––only to find his hand hit some sort of electric current.   
  
He hissed in pain, drawing his hand back. The shield swam in front of his eyes, quite visible. Snape frowned at it, wondering if it had always been there, invisible, or…   
  
With a rather sinking feeling, he looked towards the bed. The Wraith had turned her head towards him, her pale blue eyes open and staring at him. Despite himself, Snape felt a jolt of uneasiness. She didn't look at all natural.   
  
He cleared his throat, "I hope you will forgive a man's idle curiosity?"   
  
"If I believed it was only idle curiosity, I might," Wraith replied, her voice oddly disconnected. It was almost as if she weren't quite on the same plane as him yet, as if she were half-dreaming. "Step away from my desk," she told him, her voice a little steadier.   
  
Snape did as she instructed, moving back to the other side of the bed. Wraith slowly sat up, moving stiffly. She rubbed a hand over her eyes. "What are you doing here?" she demanded.   
  
"My fellow Death Eaters wanted me to make sure you were still alive," he told her.   
  
There was a moment of silence as Wraith took this in.   
  
"And why would they think otherwise?"   
  
"You've been up here for three days," Snape informed her.   
  
Wraith was very quiet, but Snape saw the way her mouth tightened at the news.   
  
"Why you?" she suddenly demanded of him.   
  
"Oh, I don't know," Snape said bitingly, "because everyone else is terrified of you?"   
  
"And you, of course, are not?"   
  
"I know you well enough to know that you do not kill without order or reason."   
  
Wraith closed her eyes, but something in her face seemed to soften. "Why is it that the man I hate the most is the one who understands me most?"   
  
"Strange how that often works out," Snape said idly.   
  
Wraith sighed, "Three days?"   
  
"Yes."   
  
"…Where is the Dark Lord?"   
  
"Away," Snape said, "He'll return at nightfall, according to the others."   
  
"…Thank you," Wraith said softly, "But as I'm clearly not dead, could you leave me alone now?"   
  
"Happily," Snape retorted. He turned and started to the door.   
  
Wraith looked down at the bed and suddenly realized that someone had pulled the blanket over her. She frowned. It wouldn't have been the Dark Lord. "…Severus?"   
  
Snape stopped, turning to see her bemused expression. "What?"   
  
Wraith tilted her head to the side, her eyes drifting away from him. "…Never mind," she said, shaking her head. "Just…never mind." 


	88. Bound

_"Those who can make you believe absurdities can make you commit atrocities."_  
  
  
  
  
When night came, bringing with it dark storm clouds, the Dark Lord returned to the Manor and went directly up to his tower. As he entered the shadowed circular room, he paused in the doorway, his eyes sweeping through the dark. When his gaze came to rest near the top of the metal stairs of the bookcase, he then closed the door behind him, casting the room into complete darkness.   
  
In the dark, he crossed to the staircase and stared up. "I see you've recovered."   
  
"Yes, my Lord," Wraith said softly, her eyes glowing softly in the black.   
  
"Why have you come here, my Wraith?" Voldemort demanded shortly.   
  
Wraith closed her eyes, turning her head away. "I came to apologize," she replied quietly.   
  
Voldemort considered her a moment. Then he swept his wand towards the fireplace where flames leapt into life. The sudden light made Wraith wince slightly, but she quickly turned her attention back to her Lord. She could read nothing from his face and even less from his eyes.   
  
She was huddled near the top of the stairs, her arms wrapped around her knees. Voldemort was forcibly reminded of the night that Wraith had realized that Gavin had come to the Manor. There was the same nervous, skittish air around her. She so obviously expected punishment.   
  
Slowly, the Dark Lord went around to the bottom of the staircase and began to climb. He stopped when his head was just slightly higher than hers. "Get on with it," he told her, enjoying the way she flinched at the dismissal tone.   
  
"I should have killed Edwin Rowle," she told him, a trace of bitterness shining through. "There's no excuse for it."   
  
"No, there isn't," Voldemort agreed blandly. "So you know his name."   
  
Wraith winced again and dropped her eyes. "Severus told me––after."   
  
"Did he also happen to mention how much trouble the Rowle boy has caused me?"   
  
Wraith bowed her head. "He mentioned it," she said softly. Very carefully, she lifted her eyes to his. "My Lord––I'm sorry. My…behavior has been––deplorable. The…" She struggled to find the words. "…encounter with Rowle frightened me––threw me off––and I let it get the better of me. I'm sorry."   
  
Voldemort was silent, studying her face as if he meant to reach into her mind and uncover a lie. Finally, he nodded just once, almost to himself as he made his decision. He reached a hand out to her, the motion sudden, and he was rewarded as Wraith shied away as if expecting a blow. Instead, Voldemort caressed her hair in an idle gesture. "Come and sit," he ordered her, turning and walking down the staircase.   
  
Wraith watched, slightly bewildered, as he settled into his chair by the fire. She blinked at him and then rose, descending the stairs, trying to hide her apprehension. She paused beside the fireplace, her eyes drifting to the flames.   
  
In the light, the Dark Lord realized that her gown was not its usual black, but a very deep green. He also saw the golden chain of the locket around her neck, the locket itself hidden under the dress. He smiled just slightly and the change in his expression drew her eyes back to him. Their eyes met and held.   
  
Wraith took a step forward, still hesitant, and then settled at his feet, resting a hand upon his knee as she looked up at him. "Do you forgive me?" she asked him pleadingly.   
  
"I trust that you will not fail me in such a way ever again," he told her pointedly.   
  
Wraith shook her head and then moved closer so that she could lay her cheek on his knee. Voldemort stroked her hair absentmindedly. Wraith felt the walls she'd erected between them begin to crumble despite all the work she'd put into them. Being in the presence of the Dark Lord, with his forgiveness acting like a balm upon a wound, made her feel wholly calm. But still, she knew that beneath that calm lurked the despair she'd been battling.   
  
"I've missed this," she murmured, her eyes drifting closed.   
  
"Have you?" Voldemort said.   
  
"Yes," she replied, smiling a little bit. "I've been running myself to the ground just trying to survive this place––and you've been so busy yourself. It's been months since you've had the patience to just let me sit with you."   
  
"Wraith."   
  
Sensing something in his voice, she lifted her head to look at him. He gestured, almost lazily, for her to rise. Recognizing the gleam in his eyes, Wraith slid up, hiking the skirts of her dress up so that she straddled his lap. Voldemort put a hand at the small of her back, pulling her closer towards him. Wraith bit her lower lip as he rested his head at the crook her head.   
  
Voldemort drew in the soft, cold scent of her, and realized dimly that he too had missed the presence of his Wraith, if only a little. There was something so utterly calming about her complete obedience, the subtle way she continued to yield to him no matter his pleasure. He kissed her neck, tasting her cool skin. He felt her sigh and one soft hand curl around the back of his neck.   
  
 _This is a mistake_ , Wraith thought as her mind clouded.  _I've spent months avoiding this very thing…this is a mistake_. But she made no move to run.   
  
Voldemort's teeth graze the line of her throat as his hand rose to twist the golden chain of the locket around his fingers. He pulled it free of the dress and laid it upon her breast, leaning back to admire it there against the dark forest green.   
  
"I've a desire to see you wearing nothing but this," he told her idly.   
  
Wraith shivered as the image of it flitted across her mind.   
  
Voldemort's hand rested upon her breast, feeling her heartbeat under his touch. Wraith hardened her resolve and took hold of his wrist, pushing it down. "You don't want me now," she told him, making him blink in surprise and not just a little irritation. "I'm weak," she reminded him, "on the teetering edge of frail."   
  
She pressed his hand to her midriff and he was able to feel her ribs clearly through the fabric of the dress. Voldemort sighed deeply and sat back, his hands resting at her waist.   
  
Knowing his patience was very thin; Wraith leaned forward to press her lips gently to his neck before drifting up to his ear. "I'll continue to recover," she promised him, her words whispered as her teeth brushed against his earlobe. "And when I have––I'll be happy to wear naught by this locket for you."   
  
 _Little liar_ , she accused herself mentally as she sat back again. But happy to do so or not, she knew perfectly well that she'd submit to his desires if it ever came to that.   
  
Voldemort toyed with the locket, his eyes meeting hers rather sharply. He released the locket to touch his hand beneath her chin. "I do need you to recover," he told her, his tone brisk, "for more than one reason. Yaxley believes that he's traced the last of Davies's suppliers. I want you there to finish the job we began last year."   
  
"Of course, my Lord," she murmured. She tilted her head to one side. "Shall I leave?"   
  
"I think that would be best."   
  
"Are you angry with me again?" she asked.   
  
He considered her, saw the trace of fear in her eyes again. "No," he said after a moment, "on the whole, I think not.  Go to bed, my pet," he told her, pushing her off his lap.   
  
She stood before him and then curtsied deeply, her head bowed. She straightened and without meeting his eyes again, turned and crossed to the door.   
  
Wraith felt a shiver of dread as she left the Dark Lord's tower, very aware of the dark presence that hovered at her back once again.  _Just a little longer_ , she reminded herself as she hurried to her own tower room,  _just until I find another way._    
  
  
  
  
It was not quite two weeks after Wraith had made amends with her Lord that he called upon her to play the role of Lady Death once more.   
  
In the drawing room of the Manor, the Death Eaters gathered en masse. Bellatrix and her husband sat rather near the Dark Lord as the rest gathered together. Voldemort was quiet, even as the room filled, his serpentine eyes locked onto the fire. Bella was disappointed by his distance for she had rather hoped to share a touch of personal news with him. She traded a look with Rodolphus, knowing how very proud he was to have finally extended the Lestrange family name to a new generation.   
  
Even as the thought formed in her mind, the Dark Lord turned his eyes to her. "Tell me, Bella dear, when do you expect your child?"   
  
"October, my Lord," Bellatrix said elatedly.   
  
"And do you know what the child will be?"   
  
"Not yet, my Lord," Rodolphus answered. "It is too soon to tell. Another few months and we'll have an answer."   
  
"I am hopeful for a son," Bellatrix said, casting a satisfied look towards where Lucius and Draco sat a distance away.   
  
"As am I, Bella dear," Voldemort said, drawing her eyes back to him. "I've no doubt that any son of yours will be of great value to me in the years to come."   
  
Bellatrix flushed with pride and delight. Her smile wilted slightly as Wraith entered the drawing room, but she remembered with glee the sound of the girl's screams at the hands of their Lord. But at the sight of the Dark Lord's smile, Bellatrix felt her own smile quite suddenly slip from her face. So his anger at her utter failure had already faded to nothing? Bellatrix scowled at the girl as she crossed to take her seat at Voldemort's left.   
  
"My Lord," Wraith murmured, smiling slightly as she had seen Bella's scowl.   
  
"My Wraith," Voldemort replied, touching a hand under her chin and bringing her eyes to his. "You are well?"   
  
"Quite well, my Lord," she lied blandly, "And quite ready to bring this to an end."   
  
"Excellent," Voldemort said, stroking her cheek before he leaned back against his chair.   
  
Rabastan Lestrange glanced at his brother and sister-in-law before he rose from his seat to take another a touch closer to the Wraith. The girl's eyes followed his movement and one brow rose at the forwardness of it. "My Lady," Rabastan murmured, bowing his head to her as he sat.   
  
"Rabastan," Wraith murmured in return.   
  
"I'd wondered if I might speak with you after tonight's errand is completed?"   
  
Wraith saw her Lord's eyes sharpen and covertly touched her hand to his before she answered Rabastan. "I will think on it," she said ambiguously, "If my Lord has no further use of me tonight."   
  
Rabastan, no fool, caught the meaning of her words and bowed his head in acknowledgment of them. He saw his brother's look of dislike and ignored it. Rabastan felt he had lived in his brother's shadow quite long enough, especially since Rodolphus was eclipsed himself by his own wife. Rabastan would make his own name, no matter the cost or the time it took.   
  
"Ah, Severus," Voldemort said, looking up as Snape stepped into the room. "Now we may begin."   
  
"My Lord." Snape bowed low to the Dark Lord before taking the chair to his right. Snape did not miss the sharp look that the Wraith had given him.  _She no longer knows what to make of me_ , Snape thought idly as he inclined his head slightly in her direction.  _Good, then we are even, aren't we?_  
  
"My loyal Death Eaters," Voldemort began, drawing every eye in the room to him, "Yaxley has uncovered the last of Davies's supporters, a wizard who aided and abetted the rebellion among my followers. His name is Daniel Tzadik. Tonight we end him."   
  
"Tzadik?" Lucius repeated incredulously, "but he was––"   
  
"Yes, Tzadik was a generous supporter of my first incursion," Voldemort said, nodding, "but it seems that in my absence he has had a change of heart."   
  
"Traitor," Wraith murmured, more to herself than the others.   
  
"Yes, my pet," Voldemort agreed, "Which is why his death belongs to you. Yaxley."   
  
The Death Eater rose from his seat to address his fellows. "Tzadik has holed himself up in his manor home just outside Surrey. He has been expecting discovery and attack for months now and will no doubt have many defenses in place against us."   
  
"That won't be a problem for me," Wraith reminded him, giving Yaxley an arched look. The man paled slightly at the subtle insult she'd handed him.   
  
"We will go in force, nonetheless," Voldemort said, "I want an example made of Tzadik."


	89. Masked

_"Ignorance killed the cat; curiosity was framed."_  
  
  
  
  
Tzadik's residence might have been deemed a manor home, but it paled in comparison to Slytherin Manor. Even the Malfoys' home had more cause to claim the title of 'manor'.  _I'm jaded_ , Wraith thought with some amusement,  _horribly, horribly jaded_. Nevertheless, the house was quite large, if rather eccentric in its design. The main part of the house was five stories high, but cast into shadow by the tower-like structure that jutted up around the front entrance.   
  
Wraith stood at the front of the Death Eaters by her Lord's side. Her white cloak shone like a beacon in the night. "Shall I?" she murmured.   
  
"Go."   
  
Wraith strode forward, leaving the others behind. The closer she got to the manor, the heavier the enchantments around it felt to her. She took a breath and lifted a hand, striking away the preliminary protective charms that covered the entrance.   
  
There were more, she realized, within the manor itself. She frowned slightly as she probed them with her power, trying to unravel them. But they were a knot of complications and it made her hesitate.   
  
Still frowning, she turned back to the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters and nodded shortly.   
  
They approached the entrance, joining her at the door.   
  
"Is it clear?" Voldemort asked.   
  
"The entrance is," she replied, "There are further enchantments inside, but I need to get closer."   
  
"We'll move slowly then," the Dark Lord said.   
  
Wraith nodded and started to open the doors––but with a hissing breath, her head snapped around.   
  
Voldemort followed her gaze and saw nothing.   
  
"What is it?" Snape asked her.   
  
"I thought I sensed something…" Wraith murmured. Her eyes were locked onto a hill in the distance, partially obscured by the trees. "But whatever it was, it's gone now," she added after a moment, "Never mind." She pushed open the door and stepped inside.   
  
The entrance hall was dark, the walls lined with glass shelves crowded with statuary and tattered ancient books.   
  
Wraith's eyes drifted over them as she brushed her fingertips along the glass. "Quite a collector isn't he?" she whispered.   
  
"He's known for it," Snape told her, coming up beside her. "You're still frowning," he commented lightly.   
  
"…There's a spell," she said slowly, her eyes wandered all around her, "…It's tied to  _everything_ …but I cannot tell what it is…"   
  
"Leave it alone for now," Voldemort ordered. "Where is he?"   
  
Wraith moved to the center of the hall, closing her eyes. After a moment, her eyes opened and turned to the ceiling. "He's at the back of the house––fourth floor," she said, unconsciously starting forward.   
  
Voldemort stood beside her and together they walked down the dark hall. Wraith paused here and there on the walk as she sensed the various enchantments within the building, but made no further comment on them. All along the way she felt the overlaying spell, like a layer of dust over every inch of the house. They reached the stairs and began to climb to the next level.   
  
Wraith caught sight of an unassuming door that she supposed led to the higher part of the tower. But that wasn't her concern––although she had the strangest sense of foreboding as they passed the door.   
  
Up they went, through the twisting corridors of the house. The further they went, the thicker the overlaying spell became. Wraith's frown deepened significantly as she realized this.   
  
"My Lord," she whispered, touching a hand to his arm, "tread carefully. I smell a trap."   
  
"As do I, my pet," he replied, scowling slightly.   
  
Finally, they reached the final door. Voldemort looked to his Wraith for confirmation. She nodded once and her eyes snapped to the door. It crumbled away, leaving the doorway empty.   
  
A swift spell flew out towards them in a flash of red light. Wraith held out a hand and caught it in her palm. The light faded and they were able to see the wizard within. He was a short and thin balding man, with a long gray beard. His dark eyes were furious as the Death Eaters entered the room and encircled it, effectively trapping him within. He stood straight as the Dark Lord stepped into the room, his Wraith by his side. Wraith saw the way the wizard's eyes flickered warily towards her before they locked onto Voldemort.   
  
"Tzadik," the Dark Lord, shaking his head slightly, "I am so disappointed."   
  
"I'm rather not," Tzadik retorted, a sly grin stretching his thin lips. There was a faint accent to his voice. "I knew you'd come for me," he said simply, "but you can't undo the damage I've done."   
  
"No, but we can repair it," Voldemort told him, his voice knife-edged and scathing. "Already, there is little sign of the trouble you caused. You're the last of it."   
  
 _No, he's not_ , Wraith remembered,  _there are still Vincent Talbot and his son_. But they would be taken care of later, no doubt. The thought did not settle her. Besides, Tzadik and his like were the greater threat. With their money and power they could bring more allies forward for those of Davies's and Talbot's kind.   
  
At her Lord's telling look, Wraith stepped forward towards Tzadik. The wizard's eyes narrowed slightly with unconscious fear, but he sneered at her nonetheless. "I'm not afraid of you," he hissed at her.   
  
"The more fool you are," Wraith told him archly.   
  
"This is the end of you, Tzadik," Voldemort said, driving home the point.   
  
Wraith did not like the way that Tzadik smiled at her. Something was wrong here. She stretched out a hand, her fingertips brushing his chest as her power sought out his heart within.   
  
But with a hissing breath, she suddenly pulled back, scowling at him. Voldemort grabbed her shoulder, but she did not turn from Tzadik.   
  
"What?" Voldemort demanded sharply.   
  
"He's the center of it," she said swiftly, "The spell that's tied over the breadth of the manor; it's linked directly to him. He's the key to it."   
  
Voldemort stepped closer, looking the man over with distain. "And what does the spell do?"   
  
"I don't know," Wraith said cuttingly, her lip curling into a sneer. "It's similar to the protective spells I've run into––but it's not the same. And _he_  is not the one who cast it," she added, "Someone else did it." She stepped away from Tzadik, frustrated with the whole thing. "We should take him from the manor."   
  
"Oh, come off it," Bellatrix said sharply, striding forward, wand in hand. "I think you've lost your nerve,  _Lady Death_ ," she sneered, "First the Rowle boy and now this. If you've not the guts to finish the job, then  _I_  will do it!"   
  
"Bellatrix,  _don't_ ––!" Wraith cried, reaching to take her arm.   
  
But it was too late. There was a flash of brightest green. Tzadik crumpled to the floor, lifeless as a broken doll.   
  
There was a moment of deep silence. Bellatrix started to smile in triumph, but Wraith quickly backed away from the body, eyes darting around her in near panic.   
  
"Ha!" Bellatrix exclaimed exuberantly. "I  _told_  you––"   
  
But she cut off as the floor rumbled beneath their feet. It echoed throughout the manor, the very foundation shaking under them.   
  
Wraith looked to the Dark Lord. "Disapparate," she said swiftly.   
  
Voldemort shook his head. "I cannot."   
  
Wraith hissed a curse and turned, eyes still scanning the room. "Then we run," she said as the floor began to shake more fiercely. " _Run now_!" she cried when she saw the floor crack down the center.   
  
The Death Eaters scrambled to the door, rushing out into the hall. Debris began to rain down on them as they ran, the house crumbling around them. Several people stumbled and fell along the way, the trembling ground making it difficult to run. There was a desperation that grew the closer they got to the stairs.   
  
Halfway down, the staircase gave way beneath their feet. Wraith saw two figures fall down the chasm and swiftly reached with her power, bringing them back to the steadier ground beyond the break. When she and the Dark Lord reached the chasm, she took his arm and lifted them both with on a gust of cold wind, carrying them over the break. Voldemort landed on his feet and continued to run, pausing briefly when he realized that Wraith had stumbled behind him. She rose as quickly as she could and hurried after him.   
  
Running faster than him, she took his hand as she passed. "Stay close," she whispered urgently, "stay close to me, my Lord." She felt no fear for herself, she was unaffected by the magic that prevented everyone else from Disapparating. But oh how she feared she wouldn't get the Dark Lord out to safety before it was too late.   
  
Behind the last of the group, the ceiling began to cave in. Someone screamed and Wraith looked over her shoulder to see Rowle trapped beneath the rubble. She released her Lord's hand and pushed him on before she turned on her heel. A stab of power shot out from her hand, shoving the debris off of the Death Eater.   
  
"Get up!" she shouted at him.   
  
He did as she ordered, scrambling to his feet and running on. Satisfied, Wraith ran too and reached Voldemort's side again.   
  
At the next staircase, pieces of it had already fallen away, but they were close enough that the Death Eaters were able to simply jump them. But at the last set of stairs, it had crumbled to nothing after the first of the group had made it down.   
  
Wraith stood at the top of the broken staircase, gazing down at the rumble below. She took hold of the nearest Death Eater and pushed, using her magic to cushion him so that he reached the bottom unharmed. She did this again and again until it was only her and the Dark Lord left.   
  
He grabbed her hand and pulled her close, an adrenaline drenched grin across his face. Wraith found the same smile on her face and she swiftly pressed her lips to his before the cold wind of her power swept them safely over the debris and to the ground floor. They ran down the hall after the others, the glass shelves at their sides smashed to pieces under the rumble from the ceiling.   
  
Finally, they sped out of the door. Wraith stumbled to the ground, fingers digging into the soft grass. The ground beneath her was still as the foundation of the house was not.   
  
Voldemort and his Death Eaters stared up at the crumbling manor home in something akin the awe. It was a  _powerful_  spell to have brought it all down.   
  
Wraith lifted her head, seeing that most of the Death Eaters had already reached the trees before they'd stopped to turn and stare. She counted swiftly in her mind and let out a breath of relief. They had all made it out, everyone was safe––  
  
Something above her head cracked loudly and she turned her gaze in horror to the tower over them. The top of it broke away with a deafening sound and fell––straight down towards her and the Dark Lord.   
  
" _No_!" she screamed.   
  
A swift shot of her power caught Voldemort and pushed him roughly out of range.   
  
Wraith had enough time to turn over on her back and lift her arms above her face before the stone and mortar buried her.


	90. Buried

_"Isn't it fascinating how long a few minutes seem when you are completely alone with not a familiar face in sight?"_  
  
  
  
  
Voldemort, caught completely off guard by the force of Wraith's magic, climbed back onto his feet to see the destruction. As he realized what had happened, he screamed in rage, the sound echoing over the now still air.   
  
The manor had fallen to nothing but rubble, everything within destroyed. There was a chill silence from the Death Eaters as they watched their Lord stalk towards the fallen tower. Snape broke away from the pack to stand beside Voldemort. "…My Lord," he murmured, his eyes locked upon the destruction before them, "The Wraith…is she…?"   
  
"She's alive," Voldemort said after a moment. "She's alive under there." He turned to his Death Eaters, his face a mask of rage. "Dig her out," he commanded, his tone brooking no argument. "Get her out of there."   
  
Several figures came forward, including Rowle and Rabastan, to begin levitating rocks and mortar away. Snape joined them, wondering silently if the threat Wraith had posed had been ended. But the Dark Lord claimed she had lived…and their strange link would tell him so, wouldn't it?   
  
It was slow work and Voldemort began to pace impatiently, his fury still clear upon his face. Finally, Snape caught sight of one pale arm beneath the rubble. He hurried forward and began to dig faster around where she lay. It was fascinating, he thought as they continued to free her. The stones above her were oddly caved over her, as if they'd hit a sort of shield. At first it seemed that she had escaped unscathed––but then Snape took a closer look.   
  
One slim arm was thrown over her eyes as if to protect them––and her right arm lay above her head and was buried beneath a heavy slab of rock. As they uncovered more of her, it became clear that the lower part of her left leg had also been caught unprotected.   
  
Voldemort came closer, peering down at his Wraith. It was he who levitated the rock away from her arm as Snape cleared away the rubble burying her leg. Carefully, as gently as possible, Snape knelt and lifted her up into his arms, carrying her a short distance away from the fallen tower. He lay her upon the soft grass and stepped back, noting with some concern that Wraith's eyes were still closed. Voldemort hissed as he took in her condition.   
  
Her right arm was clearly broken––very clearly considering the white of bone poking out from under her pale skin, surrounded by blood. Her left ankle appeared to be crushed. There were also several abrasions upon her face, already half-healed, bleeding sluggishly.   
  
As he studied her face, her eyes suddenly burst open. They were glassy with shock as she turned her head towards her right arm. A sharp cry of pain and horror escaped her lips when she saw the bone sticking out of her arm. The cry became a moan and she turned her eyes away.   
  
Snape stepped forward and began to kneel beside her, but she snapped at him, "Stay away from me!" Snape appeared nonplused as he straightened. He snapped his fingers, gesturing to Rabastan.   
  
The younger Lestrange brother hurried forward and knelt beside the Wraith, putting one hand under her head to support it. "My Lady?"   
  
She shook her head, gritting her teeth as she fought the pain that rolled like black greasy waves through her.   
  
"We have to get out of here," Bellatrix said suddenly, her voice tight with fear. "We––"   
  
" _Crucio_!"   
  
Bellatrix screamed as the Dark Lord's curse fell upon her. Voldemort held his wand on her, his face twisted with pure rage. Bellatrix writhed on the ground as her screams went higher.   
  
"My Lord!" Wraith cried from where she lay, her voice strained, "My Lord–– _her baby_!"   
  
With a short shout of frustration, Voldemort dismissed the curse, leaving Bellatrix gasping for breath upon the ground. The Dark Lord strode forward, grabbing hold of Bella's collar. "I'll deal with you later," he hissed at her before dropping her back down. He turned his back on her and Rodolphus rushed forward to his wife.   
  
Voldemort stood over his Wraith, taking in her wounds. "She cannot Apparate while healing," he said to Rabastan and Snape.   
  
"My Lord," Wraith hissed, reaching her good arm up towards him. Voldemort knelt on her right side, frowning at her. "Set the bone," Wraith whispered harshly through her teeth. Voldemort blinked at her as the meaning of her words came to him. "It…it will heal faster if it is set," Wraith told him, " _Set the bone_."   
  
"It will hurt," he told her in return as he gently touched his hands to the broken arm.   
  
"Do it!" Wraith ordered swiftly.   
  
Voldemort snapped the bone into place, his face unchanging.   
  
Wraith screamed, more in rage than anything else as a flash of white-hot pain flashed through her.   
  
With tear-blurred eyes, she looked towards that distant hill again. "There…are people there," she rasped, "…waiting…"   
  
Voldemort turned sharp eyes towards the hill and then looked to the Death Eaters. "Back to the Manor," he ordered swiftly. Looking back to his Wraith, he said, "You as well, Rabastan."   
  
Rabastan winced and gently laid Wraith's head back on the ground before he stood and strode away.  
  
Voldemort gestured to Snape, who cautiously came forward. "Take her into the trees there," the Dark Lord commanded. "We have to get her out of sight until she has healed enough to Disapparate."   
  
Snape nodded and reached to pick her up again, despite the way she hissed at him to keep away. He cradled her rather gently in his arms as he carried her over to the trees and took cover beneath them.   
  
Wraith let out a moan of agony as he set her back down beneath an ancient oak tree. The abrasions of her face had healed, leaving only the blood behind. Snape looked up as the Dark Lord joined them, kneeling on his Wraith's other side. "Remain still," he hissed at her and Snape.   
  
After a few minutes, they heard the footsteps of several people coming towards the wreckage. Wraith bit down on her tongue to keep her cries of pain silent. Snape saw her struggle and took her hand in his, allowing her to clutch it tightly as she fought the pain.   
  
"Think she's dead?" came a whispered voice from beyond the trees.   
  
"Just might be," replied a low female voice. "The way she screamed…"   
  
"Well, if we couldn't be rid of You-Know-Who, at least we got his Wraith," said a third voice.   
  
"She'll be harder to kill than that," snapped a fourth voice, also female.   
  
Voldemort's eyes narrowed as he studied her. " _Meadows_ ," he hissed as he recognized her. He had dealt with her parents nearly two years before, but had missed her, thinking her no threat. That had apparently changed.   
  
"Let's get out of here," said the first voice.   
  
"Yes, let's."   
  
After a moment, Voldemort looked back to his Wraith. "They're gone."   
  
Wraith let out a gasping breath of relief and then moaned in pain as her healing arm started to spasm.   
  
"How is her ankle?" Voldemort asked of Snape, who moved to check.   
  
"Healing as well," he said after a moment, "but I don't dare touch it to see how close."   
  
"Oh,  _god_ ," Wraith moaned, writhing with the black agony of her battered body. Her eyes were still glassy and unfocused. Voldemort ran his hand down her face and she leaned into his touch. He felt the wetness of tears upon her cheek.   
  
The three of them sat there in the darkness beneath the trees for nearly an hour before Wraith's soft sounds of pain died away. Her breath was still ragged and she struggled to keep her eyes open, but she was able to lift her right arm with only a little pain. The bone had healed.   
  
Moving carefully and with a touch of help from her Lord, she sat up and tested the movement of her ankle. Both arm and ankle were tender, but her power was available to her once more.   
  
"Better now," she rasped, her voice clouded with fatigue. She leaned against her Lord's side a moment to catch her breath. Then Voldemort and Snape each took an arm and pulled her to her feet.   
  
Sharing a glance with each other and then with Wraith, they Disapparated.   
  
  
  
  
They appeared at the edge of the grounds claimed so long ago by Slytherin. Wraith immediately fell to the ground between them and retched. The dark blood fell from her lips to stain the gravel beneath her.   
  
She coughed and then gasped in pain as she discovered just how tender her right arm still was. She rolled onto her back to breathe a moment before she accepted her Lord's hand.   
  
Voldemort pulled her up to her feet and allowed her to lean against him. Her eyes were unclear as she swayed on her feet. Voldemort and Snape realized quickly that she wasn't quite conscious. Snape took her other arm and they started to pull her forward, towards the Manor.   
  
But after just a couple of feet, the Wraith let out a high mewling sound and fought against their pull.   
  
" _No_ ," she moaned, struggling to free herself, "Not here–– _not here_! No more, no more,  _please_ …He'll find me,  _he'll take me_ …"   
  
Voldemort let out a hiss of frustration and stopped trying to pull her against her will. Wraith's arm slipped from his grasp and she fell back to the ground, the soft high sounds of panic issuing from her lips.   
  
Snape considered her, thinking quickly. "My Lord," he said carefully, "we could bring her to Hogwarts. I know it's sooner than you had planned, but if she cannot bring herself to enter the Manor so weakened…"   
  
"Yes," Voldemort said, shortly. "Yes, we'll bring her to Hogwarts. She can heal there."   
  
Snape could not read the strange expression in the Dark Lord's eyes as he gazed down at his Wraith, but it was nothing he had seen before.  
  
  
  
  
After Apparating to the front gate of Hogwarts, Wraith fainted outright at their feet. It was Voldemort who knelt to bring her up into his arms. Snape unlocked the gate and led the way up to the castle.   
  
As they started up the front steps, Snape glanced back at the Dark Lord and his Wraith. The girl was a mess of blood and dust, her white cloak little more than a disaster.   
  
"Shall I run a bath for her, my Lord?" he asked, standing back so that Voldemort could carry the girl over the threshold. He then frowned slightly at Wraith's limp form––Had her wane face just relaxed slightly after crossing into the castle?   
  
"I think that would be best," Voldemort said, glancing down at the burden in his arms.   
  
"The staff bathroom, I think," Snape said, again taking the lead. "I'll contact Wormtail at the Manor and have him start sending her possessions to the castle, starting with her clothing."   
  
"Yes," Voldemort said, distracted by his Wraith's sleeping face.   
  
Snape entered the bathroom alone and immediately crossed to the only portrait within, a simple landscape of the ocean. But standing before the ocean was Dumbledore's aged face.   
  
"She's here then?"   
  
"Here to stay for the time being," Snape whispered in response as he began to fill the bathtub, "Send Phineas down––the Dark Lord knows your face all too well."   
  
Dumbledore nodded and swiftly stepped out of sight to the edge of the portrait. After a moment, Snape went back to the door and gestured for the Dark Lord to enter.   
  
Voldemort laid Wraith along the edge of the bathtub. At the sound of running water, the girl seemed to stir. With a soft moan, her eyes fluttered open to meet her Lord's.   
  
"My Wraith," Voldemort said, his voice very nearly gentle, "Severus has run a bath for you."   
  
"Oh," Wraith murmured. She slowly sat up, putting one hand to her forehead. "That's nice." She blinked several times and her eyes began to clear. "Thank you," she said, turning rather confused eyes towards Snape. She frowned slightly. "Where am I?"   
  
"Hogwarts," Voldemort told her, "and here you'll stay while you heal."   
  
Something akin to hope sprang into Wraith's bloodshot eyes. "I don't have to go back to the Manor?" The relief in her voice was pathetically clear.   
  
"No," Voldemort replied. "Now, take your bath. I'll be close by."   
  
He stood and gestured to Snape. The two left her alone in the room to undress and slip into the soothing water.


	91. Reward

_"While I thought that I was learning how to live, I have been learning how to die."_  
  
  
  
  
Wraith had a half an hour of simple peace, soaking in the tub the size of a small swimming pool. She stayed at the shallowest end of it as she wasn't at all confident in her swimming ability. She felt weary right down to the bone, but at least one heavy burden had been lifted from her heart.   
  
She did not have to return to Slytherin Manor. No matter how many times she mentally reminded herself of this fact, it brought with it the same flood of relief every time.   
  
And the Dark Lord would not be living in the castle either, she realized. He would return to the Manor without her.   
  
As if her thoughts had conjured him, she felt the Dark Lord's presence just outside the bathroom door. She shifted slightly in the water, unsure of what was to come.   
  
"My Wraith."   
  
"Yes, my Lord?"   
  
"I would like to speak with you."   
  
Wraith glanced down at the water, terribly aware of her nudity, and then berated her own silliness. Her Lord had already seen her half-naked––how much of a difference would being seen completely naked make?   
  
"You can come in," she called, looking back to the door. Despite herself, she leaned forward to wrap her arms around her knees to mostly hide her nakedness.   
  
Voldemort stepped into the room, closing the door behind him without taking his eyes from the sight of his Wraith in the water.  He circled around the bathtub, while his Wraith turned her head to follow his movement.   
  
"You wanted to speak with me?" she prompted when he'd reached her side again.   
  
"Yes," he said, kneeling down. He reached out to touch her arm, distracted briefly by the sight of the vivid red scar marring the pale skin.   
  
Wraith looked down at it. "It'll disappear in the next few days," she said softly, "I doubt it'll be all that visible tomorrow."   
  
"How do you know?"   
  
"Vaisey's bullet," she reminded him. "There was a similar scar from the gunshot wound. It didn't last long." She shrugged, "This one might last longer, as the wound was more serious."   
  
Voldemort nodded and straightened as she soft knock came to the door. He crossed, frowning slightly, and opened it a crack.   
  
A trembling house-elf stood in the doorway, carrying a pile of towels and clothing. Voldemort stepped aside and gestured the little creature inside. The elf scurried to a small table across the room, which sat next to a folding screen, and he set his burden down upon the tabletop. Then he bowed to the Dark Lord and to Wraith before he disappeared through the door once more.   
  
Voldemort took a towel from the pile and unfolded it, standing at the edge of the water. "Out," he told her.   
  
Wraith hesitated and Voldemort gave her an arched look. With a sigh, he closed his eyes and waited. Wraith fought a smile as she quickly climbed out and wrapped the towel around herself.   
  
"Okay," she said softly.   
  
Voldemort opened his eyes and stepped closer to her. He touched her bare shoulder and let his hand drift across her skin, warmed from the water she'd been soaking in.   
  
"…You saved my life."   
  
Wraith was silent, unsure of how to respond.   
  
Out in the hall, Snape knelt in front of the door, grateful for the way it was cracked open. He'd feared that his instructions to the house-elf wouldn't be followed or that either the Dark Lord or the Wraith would notice the elf had left the door open. He was only just able to see where they were standing within the room, but he could hear them clearly.   
  
"You very nearly died in the attempt," the Dark Lord said, now circling around her.   
  
"Not so nearly," Wraith murmured.   
  
"I beg to differ," Voldemort said, standing behind her.   
  
He touched a hand to her chin and turned her head. She looked up at him, the knuckles of her hands white as she clutched the towel against her. Voldemort's other hand drifted around to caress the vivid scar upon her arm. Snape saw the way she trembled slightly as she leaned back against him.   
  
"If you hadn't been able to shield yourself from that tower, you would have been crushed."   
  
Wraith said nothing, didn't trust herself to speak.   
  
"Tell me, my Wraith," Voldemort said softly, "Would you die for me?"   
  
"Yes," Wraith replied without hesitation.   
  
The utter conviction in her voice made Snape shiver.   
  
Her lips twisted into something of a smile. "After all, I wouldn't even have a life if it wasn't for you, now would I?" she said, touching the hand upon her arm, "My creator."   
  
Snape felt a jolt in the pit of his stomach.  _Creator?_    
  
Voldemort laughed softly, bending his head down slightly. "If any one of my other followers swore they would die for me, my pet, I would hesitate to believe them. But you––you, I believe without a doubt."   
  
Wraith closed her eyes with a sigh. "I couldn't let you be hurt," she whispered.   
  
"I'm grateful," Voldemort told her, "and I will not forget it. You are more than deserving of a reward, my Wraith."   
  
She opened her eyes and searched his face. "What I want," she began, her voice soft, "you've already given me. You've brought me away from the Manor."   
  
"So easily pleased," Voldemort said, only a touch of incredulity to his tone.   
  
Wraith smiled and shook her head, stepping away from him. He saw at once that she had started to shiver from the cold and likely exhaustion as well.   
  
"Get dressed," he said to her, looking over her thin frame.   
  
Wraith nodded quickly and crossed to the folding screen. She ducked behind it and finished drying herself off. Her hair was still soaked, but she let it go.   
  
Snape slowly stood and crossed the hall to a nearby painting. " _Phineas_ ," he hissed, hoping that the portrait of the former headmaster would hear him.   
  
"How do you expect me to spy on them if you're calling me out here into the hall?" Phineas said drawlingly as he stepped into sight within the painting.   
  
"I want to know if I heard the girl correctly," Snape said swiftly, his eyes on the door still. "Did she call the Dark Lord her 'creator'? Did I mishear her?"   
  
"No," Phineas replied, his constant air of sarcasm briefly subsided.   
  
Snape was silent a moment. "Talk with the other portraits, see which might have any information on magical constructs."   
  
"I've never heard of a  _human_  construct…not one that actually survived."   
  
"Speak with the others," Snape told him again, "I'll be up shortly." He moved back to the doorway and knelt once more.   
  
After she'd slipped on her underwear, Wraith reached out for the dress folded with the towels on the table. But as she reached for it, the Dark Lord's hand closed around her wrist and pulled he pulled her out where he could see her.  She froze.   
  
Out in the hall, Snape cursed mentally and quickly averted his eyes. But not before he had seen exactly what the Dark Lord had. The Wraith's body was terribly emaciated. Even at a distance and in the short time he'd seen, Snape was certain he could count her ribs beneath her skin.  
  
Voldemort touched a hand to those ribs and his hand drifted down to the sharp angles of her hips. "You lied to me," he said lowly, his eyes locking with hers.   
  
Wraith closed her eyes, fighting the temptation to cover her bare chest.   
  
"This isn't only from tonight's exertions," the Dark Lord continued. "You've been overextending yourself for months, haven't you?"   
  
"I wanted to be of use to you," Wraith whispered.   
  
"And you have certainly been useful," Voldemort conceded, "but you'll be of no use at all if you burn yourself out, my pet."   
  
"And what if I hadn't lied?" Wraith demanded of him, "What if I hadn't been there tonight?"   
  
"A point," Voldemort said with a short nod. "I'll forgive the lie––but you will need time to fully heal, my Wraith."   
  
"I know," she said softly.   
  
"You will be able to do so here," Voldemort told her. "For the next few months at least, your duties at Lady Death will be suspended."   
  
Wraith finally opened her eyes again and the Dark Lord was pleased to see the sharp glint in them. "If I disappear after tonight…people might just assume that I have died," she said slowly.   
  
"And what a horrible shock it will be for them when it becomes clear it isn't true," Voldemort said, smiling just slightly.   
  
Wraith lowered her eyes, her mind racing.   
  
Voldemort released her wrist, "Finish dressing."   
  
"Yes, my Lord." Wraith ducked behind the screen again and hurriedly dressed.   
  
Snape waited until she had emerged fully dressed and was taking a brush through her black hair before he straightened and knocked once upon the door.   
  
"Enter," the Dark Lord said. Both he and the Wraith turned when Snape entered the room.   
  
"My Lord," Snape said, bowing to the Dark Lord, "My Lady," he added, bowing his head to Wraith, "I have rooms prepared for you on the seventh floor."   
  
"You will show them to her in a while, Severus," Voldemort said idly. "I must take my leave––there are things to be dealt with at the Manor."   
  
Wraith glanced sharply at her Lord. "What is going to happen to Bellatrix?" she asked plainly.   
  
"Imprisonment would be best," Voldemort said callously, "No harm will come to the unborn child, my pet. You have my word." He gave her a curious look. "I am surprised that you care."   
  
"It is not the child's fault who its mother happens to be," Wraith said with a small shrug. "I see no reason to punish a child for the parent's mistakes."   
  
"Ah." Voldemort touched a hand to Wraith's chin, searching her eyes. "Walk me out, my pet."     
  
  
  
  
The Dark Lord and his Wraith walked down to the entrance hall, shadowed by Snape who remained several steps behind. There was a fragile air around the Wraith and he knew without asking that she was very close to collapsing. Snape kept a careful eye upon her as they reached the front doors.   
  
Standing on the front steps, the Dark Lord turned back to Wraith. "I'll return tomorrow," he told her, "There are several things that we need to discuss, with all of my Death Eaters. We'll hold our meetings here at Hogwarts until you've recovered enough to Apparate again."   
  
"Yes, my Lord," Wraith said softly.   
  
"Come here," he instructed her. She stepped down until she stood beside him. "Try not to kill Severus, my pet," he said, running a hand down her hair.   
  
"I'll resist the temptation," she replied, glancing over her shoulder at Snape. To Snape's surprise, there was only a spark of dislike in her eyes, rather than the full heat of hatred he'd come to expect. Wraith turned her eyes back to Voldemort. "You'll visit here?"   
  
"When I can," Voldemort replied vaguely. He looked to Snape briefly. "Severus, give us a moment."   
  
Snape bowed his head and stepped back inside, closing the door.   
  
Voldemort put a hand at the back of Wraith's neck and tilted her head back. There was a flash of heat in the kiss that surprised Wraith and despite her exhaustion she responded to it. She curled her hand around his neck as her lips parted beneath his.   
  
Slowly, Voldemort pulled back, caressing her cheek as he stepped away. "Once you have recovered, there will none to match you," he said, his voice low. "Lord Voldemort never forgets those who have aided him. I will not forget that you saved my life."   
  
"As I never forget that you gave me life," Wraith replied softly.   
  
Voldemort smiled slowly and turned away. "Until tomorrow, my Wraith."   
  
Wraith stood at the top of the steps, watching him walk away. She waited until he had disappeared through the gates before she too turned and walked back into the castle. Snape was waiting at the staircase within. He remained still until she had reached him before he started up the stairs. Wraith followed him up to the seventh floor.   
  
When he stopped before a door, he looked back at her at last. "You must be more than ready to sleep," he said. Wraith nodded shortly, not meeting his eyes. "Here," Snape said, opening the door. He led her into the room and stepped back to let her examine it.   
  
Wraith looked around and her first thought was that the first room was a perfect mixture of her rooms at the Malfoys' and her tower at the Manor. The walls were stone and hung with tapestries, but the room held only a long couch and several chairs and small tables. There were two thin tall windows at each side of a larger, more ornate window that also had a window seat.   
  
Wraith crossed the room to a second door to the right, which led to the bedroom. Within was a large canopy bed and smaller window. There was also a large wardrobe made of dark wood, set with a mirror in each door. Wraith went to the bed and ran a hand over the soft covers.   
  
As she straightened, she finally looked to Snape, standing in the doorway. "Thank you." There was a hard underlying tone to the words, but Snape accepted them with a nod.   
  
He started to turn, but then stopped himself. "…It wasn't only the Dark Lord's life you saved tonight," he said to her. Wraith blinked at him, unsure of what his intentions were. "You nearly killed yourself making sure that every one of us got out of that house alive. That kind of selfless act is not often seen amongst us."   
  
Wraith turned her head away, frowning. "That's because such selflessness has no place among us."   
  
"Perhaps a place should be made."   
  
Wraith looked at him sharply, but he had already walked away. She heard the door close behind him and only then did she step back into the front room.   
  
As she crossed to the center window and settled herself among the cushions, she admired the view beyond the glass. The grounds were cast in shadow, but the lake itself glittered with the stars that hung above it.   
  
 _Now_ , Wraith realized,  _now I feel like I'm home._

 

 

 

 

_End of Part One_

**Author's Note:**

> The main character of this I actually created years ago for another fanfiction I'd called 'The Raven Mage'. I read a lot of fantasy novels and one of my favorite authors is Mercedes Lackey. In her books, when a sorcerer or wizard is pushed beyond their limits of magic, they begin to pull from their own life source to fuel it. So I applied this concept to the world of Harry Potter, created another class of magic-wielders.
> 
> I will warn you guys, there are a lot of OC's in this story. Apparently I don't write fanfiction, but fan-novels. I started this fic back in 2009 and it's still going. Despite its length, (or perhaps because of it), I have every intention of finishing it. So bear with me, this one's huge.


End file.
